


Black Sheep, White Armor: Book Two

by Cateia



Series: The Chronicles of Vael [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Chantry Life, Cumberland, Denerim, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kirkwall, Political Intrigue, Romance, Royal plots, Starkhaven, sexual content (eventual), vengeance, vices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 108,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cateia/pseuds/Cateia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continued story of Sebastian Vael and Starkhaven. He's loved and lost, been a disgrace and found redemption. But will the Maker's next set of challenges be too much for the Exiled Prince to overcome? </p><p>  <i>Nothing I’ve ever done has made me worthy of my title. Especially not now, not when my family lies dead and I’m still here, exiled because of selfish stupidity. There’s nothing “high” about escaping your true fate. I belong with them.</i></p><p>After the loss of his entire family, Sebastian must decide whether to give up the Chantry life that has saved him or take his place as the rightful Prince of Starkhaven. Just when the decision seems clear, he meets Aspasia Hawke. Sebastian finds himself questioning his decisions, values, even his faith as he follows the apostate around Kirkwall. Before long, the Prince is head-over-heels for Hawke but there's a problem; she's spoken for. Can Sebastian bear to let love slip through his fingers again?</p><p>Meanwhile, the citizens of Starkhaven struggle under the puppet regime of Johane Harimann. Can the few supporters of the Exiled Prince evade the blood mage's wrath long enough to raise an army? Will Sebastian even want the crown so many have died for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Hail BioWare. It’s their world, I’m just playing in it. However, this story has a wide cast of original characters. If it's not in the games, the codices, or the wikis, it's mine. Also, if you like an original character and wish to use him/her in your own work, by all means, ask!
> 
> If you’ve read Black Sheep, White Armor: Book One, feel free to skip directly to first chapter, called The Rider. This Prologue is a summary for newcomers, since the events of Book One create a bit of an AU. 
> 
> This story is a direct continuation of Black Sheep, White Armor: Book One. It follows Sebastian Vael as he struggles with the burden of being the rightful Prince of Starkhaven after his family’s slaughter. The fate of several major characters from Book One will also be revealed, all leading up to the future story (and series namesake) Only Just a Dream. 
> 
> I thank you in advance for reading this, and I always welcome feedback. I, like many fanfic writers, actually live on comments, kudos, favorites, follows, and bookmarks. They’re delicious with ketchup. :-)

The daily routine of Brotherhood had grown to be a comfort to Sebastian Vael. Every day, he rose at dawn and recited his morning prayers. Then he practiced archery for an hour before breaking his fast. After eating, Sebastian then either worked in the archive room or heard confessions until lunch. The rest of the day was filled with a mix of various Chantry duties—often physical tasks the Sisters and Mothers were too weak to perform—and culminated in evening vespers. A bath, light meditation, and personal prayers concluded his day. It was simple, quiet, and utterly boring, but it had successfully stamped out each and every one of Sebastian’s vices. He would much rather work on his calligraphy than wake up in a rum-induced haze, next to a strange lass he couldn’t remember bedding the night before. It was cheaper, too, in more ways than one.

Though he hadn’t been in Kirkwall long, Sebastian had quickly become known as one of Grand Cleric Elthina’s most devout clergy members. He was, by all appearances, a knight in gleaming white armor to the Kirkwall faithful; a shining representative of the Maker’s grace.

In contrast, anyone from Starkhaven would have been hard-pressed to recognize this bright, calm young man as the black sheep of the Vael line, a hard-drinking, womanizing hellion that got exiled to Val Royeaux after being accused of murdering his girlfriend, a servant named Colleen MacDougal.

The transformation was a long time in the making, and Denerim’s Grand Cleric would be outraged that he’d been allowed to take his vows at all. Sebastian had, after all, made a point of sneaking out regularly to visit the tavern _and_ brothel. But his time in Denerim hadn’t been spent solely on making a farce of his protective Chantry position; he’d become best friends with a young Templar recruit named Alistair, won the Ferelden Archery Tournament twice, and nearly got recruited into the storied Grey Wardens.

Just when life in Denerim seemed to be perfect in Sebastian’s view, his past came back to haunt him. The man responsible for his girlfriend’s death—Robbie MacSwain—showed up in Denerim. Feeling it was either kill or be killed by the deranged sociopath, Sebastian challenged Robbie to a duel behind the Gnawed Noble tavern. Sebastian won, escaping the scene with the dead man’s blood all over him. Sebastian was reassigned to Kirkwall after it was discovered that MacSwain was a wanted man in several Ferelden towns.

Sebastian often wondered what was going on in his homeland, if anybody there even remembered he existed. Sebastian missed his siblings—Corbinian, Gavin, Aileen, and Hannah—and wondered how big Corbinian’s three children were getting. He’d also heard recently that Gavin’s wife was pregnant and Aileen was to be married. There was a woman who frequented the Chantry that looked strikingly similar to his mother, Andra, and every time he caught her eye it made his heart ache.

Not that Sebastian hadn’t heard _anything_ of what was going on back home, of course. He heard bits and pieces—random bits of gossip, really—about how members of the nobility were causing a fair amount of trouble for his father. Sebastian also knew that Prince Aidan Vael was fighting a seemingly hopeless battle trying to keep them happy. What he _didn’t_ know was that the trouble was headed up first by Lord Renly Harimann, then by his widow, Johane—Kirkwall nobility. Sebastian certainly didn’t know the dark secrets that tied the Harimanns and Vaels together in a tragic twist of fate, and how he was at the center of it all.

But for all he missed Starkhaven and his family, Sebastian knew that his place was in the Chantry. Without any friends in Kirkwall to enable his self-destructive behavior, Sebastian hit rock bottom shortly after arriving and felt that the only way to truly heal was to leave his life in the Maker’s hands. Without the Maker’s guidance, he would never have been able to give up drinking or womanizing. And so, after just a few months in Kirkwall, Sebastian eagerly took his vows of Brotherhood, sponsored by the Seeker assigned to protect him—Richard Kendrick.

Two weeks later, the Starkhaven Circle mysteriously burned to the ground, with strong evidence that the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander had fallen victim to blood magic. Fearing for his family’s safety, Aidan Vael ordered his family to hunker down inside the palace, placing his faith in the ability of a scant 30 Guardsmen to protect the royal family.

A week after the Circle Tower fire, on the 23rd day of Solace in 9:31 Dragon, the Vaels were rounded up in the wee hours of the morning and murdered in a shocking coup orchestrated by Johane Harimann. She put Sebastian’s cousin Goran—a stuttering, slow-minded puppet—on the throne of Starkhaven.

Ryon MacAllister, Captain of the Starkhaven Royal Guard and Aidan Vael’s personal bodyguard, was given one final command before the Prince perished: ride to Kirkwall, seek out Sebastian, and inform him of what has happened. He has been riding for three days without rest, only stopping to eat and change horses. The only thing standing between Ryon and Kirkwall now are the formidable Vimmark Mountains. 


	2. The Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thankless task brings the former Captain of the Starkhaven Royal Guard to Kirkwall.

**_Sundermount, 26 th of Solace, 9:31 Dragon…_ **

A pair of Dalish hunters scrambled to hide themselves at the sound of approaching hooves. The elves looked at each other as they strained their ears, trying to ascertain the number of riders. Fenarel furrowed his brows; something wasn’t right. _Only one rider? Why would he come this way?_ His gut instinct told him that it would be best to stop the rider, to tell him to go around the Dalish camp, lest he be attacked by the dozen other hunters of the Sabrae clan. He mouthed to his partner, Junar, that he intended to intercept this potential intruder and wanted the younger elf to hide, to shoot his bow at the first sign of trouble.

Junar, nodding his understanding, climbed the tree he was hiding behind. Bow in hand, he wedged himself in at the point where the trunk forked into three thick limbs.

Fenarel stepped out and stood in the path as the rider rounded a blind corner, pulling his bow from its strap, stringing it, and nocking an arrow. _Just in case._

The rider, a man in semi-ceremonial armor with accents of blue and a gold _lion rampant_ on the chest, pulled up on his steed’s reins. The horse skidded to a halt on the gravelly path, the dust cloud briefly swirling up around Fenarel. The panting of the winded mount was the only sound breaking the stillness as the dust settled once more.

“This is Dalish territory, _shemlen_ ,” Fenarel barked as he raised his bow. “Explain yourself.”

 _Shit. Of course I had to run into a Dalish clan,_ the man thought _. Take it easy, be polite. They should let a single man pass through if they realize I’m not hostile._

Fenarel watched as the man pulled off his helm. He had black hair, brown eyes, and his face was streaked with dirt and sweat. The circles under his eyes indicated that he must not have slept in days. If the rider were a younger man, Fenarel would have guessed that he was a messenger. _Not this one. He…looks important. Authoritative. How is it that he rides alone?_

At last, the man spoke. “I mean you no harm, elf.” His voice was rich with an accent that Fenarel had never heard before. “I simply mean to bring a very urgent message to Kirkwall as quickly as possible. It’s a matter of the utmost importance. Folks I talked to in Wildervale said this was the shortest way through the Vimmarks. If you’d kindly tell me another path, I’ll turn around and go that way.” His tired expression and polite words bore all the marks of a man on a thankless mission.

Fenarel looked at him for several long moments. It was clear the man was no threat. He lowered his bow, easing up on the string. Fenarel glanced up at the tree and nodded towards Junar, who started to descend. “No need to double back, _shemlen_. I’ll take you through the camp myself. You’d easily lose a day trying to find another way around. Junar, run back down the path—make sure he’s truly alone.” Junar trotted off, bow at the ready. He took a narrow, mostly-hidden path that gave him a way to sneak up the mountain path and check without sacrificing his safety.

While they waited for the elven hunter to return, the man dismounted and pulled off a glove, extending his hand. Fenarel hesitated, but eventually took the man’s extended hand, shaking briefly before retracting his hand as though he’d been burned. “Thank you. My name is Ryon,” he said, throat dry. He grabbed the water skin on his hip and took a long pull, wiping his mouth afterward. “I am— _was_ —the Captain of Starkhaven’s Royal Guard. Our Prince and most of his family have been murdered, and I must notify his only living child.” Ryon took another drink from his skin before offering it to the elf.

Fenarel waved off Ryon’s gesture and folded his lithe arms, looking at Ryon quizzically. “Why would your Prince exile one of his own children?”

Ryon let out a long breath and scratched at the back of his head as he looked up at the blazing sun, now nearly overhead. _Nearly midday. I’ve got to pick up the pace._ “That, my friend, is a long story.” He looked into his horse’s eyes, running a hand along its jaw to calm it. “I’ll lead my mount through the camp, if that would help ease your clan at all.”

“It would.” Fenarel couldn’t hide his surprise at Ryon’s offer. _Keeper Marethari always says that there are some among the shemlen who are not our enemies. Perhaps Ryon is one._

Ryon gave a thin smile as he unhooked the toggle of his saddlebag. “I have gold, if that—“

“We require no toll for your passage, Ryon,” Fenarel said, returning Ryon’s smile. Just then, he spotted Junar. The younger hunter gave a hand signal to indicate Ryon had indeed ridden alone. “Come now, we should hurry. I can’t leave Junar alone out here for long.”

Ryon nodded and walked his horse alongside Fenarel down Sundermount. They passed scattered, lichen-covered ruins as the dirt path zigzagged its way down the mountain. Before long, the pair had reached the Dalish camp itself. Ryon noticed that they had several aravels—but nothing to pull them with—and wondered how they had even gotten here. An elderly female, whom Ryon assumed was the leader, gave him a wizened look as he passed. _It’s like she knew I was coming. Strange._ Before long, they had reached the other side of the camp and Fenarel stopped.

“Good luck to you, Ryon,” Fenarel said with a slight bow. Before turning and starting the journey back he said, “Kirkwall is a dangerous place, now more than ever with all the Ferelden Blight refugees flooding the streets.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ryon muttered as he swung himself up into the saddle, clicking his tongue and tugging on the reins to get the horse moving again. He looked up at the sky; it was just past mid-day. He leaned forward and whispered a _sorry, girl_ before spurring the mare into a gallop, the City of Chains in plain sight. 

**_Kirkwall Chantry, two hours later…_ **

Sister Petrice descended from the upper level of the Kirkwall Chantry, seeking Sebastian Vael. She spotted him speaking with a young woman near the statue of Andraste and cringed. It called to mind all the horrid things she’d learned from her correspondence with the sisters in Denerim about the young man’s past. As she approached, much to her relief, Petrice found that Vael wasn’t talking to the woman at all—merely the swaddled baby in her arms. She stopped short of the young man, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs as she waited for him.

“May the Maker’s Light shine upon you, wee one,” Sebastian whispered. “He has much planned for you.” He gently stroked the baby’s wisp of black hair and smiled warmly.

“Thank you, Brother Sebastian,” the young lady said, blushing. “The healer in Darktown said prayer wouldn’t do him any good, but I think he’s wrong. I think the Maker does have a plan for Baxter. I’ll…see you around? Down at The Hanged Man, perhaps?” She batted her eyelashes at the handsome young Brother.

“I can always be found _here_ , milady,” Sebastian replied graciously, not succumbing to the woman’s attempt to flirt with him. He led her past Sister Petrice, down the stairs to the main floor, stopping near a stone pillar. He gently nodded, a subtle gesture to indicate that the conversation was over. The woman, trying to mask her disappointment, gave Sebastian an awkward smile as she left, picking up her pace as she approached the double doors and slipped through. As he watched the pretty woman leave, Sebastian shook his head. _There will always be a temptress lying in wait, won’t there? Every day it’s a struggle, but I know You would not place these challenges before me if You didn’t think I could handle them, Maker._

 _Nice act. You’ll probably slink out of here after dark and meet up with that trollop. For all anyone knows, you’re probably that child’s father. Disgusting,_ Petrice thought as she pushed away from the wall and walked out onto the raised platform, leaning over the railing. “Brother Sebastian,” Petrice barked, her voice cold. “The Grand Cleric wishes to see you in her office. Now!” As the people gathered in the lowest level of the Chantry all looked at the young man and started to whisper, Petrice couldn’t help but feel a sense of smug satisfaction. _We’ll see who the Grand Cleric’s favorite is now, you spoiled brat._

“Very well,” Sebastian replied calmly. “Thank you, Sister Petrice.” He walked past the Kirkwallers, trying to block out their whispers, but he couldn’t.

“ _I heard the Grand Cleric in Denerim refused to administer his vows.”_

_“Yeah? I heard he’s the son of royalty.”_

_“He must have been a truly awful kid to get sent away.”_

_“Rumor has it he’s being protected by the Divine herself—ever notice he’s always being followed by a man in black armor?”_

He paused at the base of the stairs, frustrated and more than a little sad that some people couldn’t see him for the person he had become. _Despite all I’ve done to change, I’ll never truly escape my past,_ he thought. Letting out a sigh, the Prince climbed the three flights of stairs to Elthina’s office. He knocked, waiting for the muffled _Come_ before he dared open the door.

“You called for me, Grand Cleric?” Sebastian asked as he closed the door behind him and turned to face Elthina.

The elderly lady averted her dove-grey eyes. “Yes, Sebastian. You have a visitor,” she said with an unusual stiffness, gesturing towards a very stoic man who stood by the fireplace.

Sebastian couldn’t keep his jaw from dropping. “Captain Ryon? What are you doing here?”

The longtime bodyguard of Prince Aidan Vael said nothing, but his red-rimmed eyes and wearied expression spoke volumes. The normally clean-cut Captain was dirty and sweaty, obviously having just arrived in the city. He gripped a thick letter in his hand tightly and thrust it towards Sebastian.

Sebastian took the paper and examined the thick wax seal. _Father’s signet._

“Sebastian, perhaps you should have a seat. That looks like a long letter,” Elthina said, trying to be helpful. She cleared her throat nervously, and Sebastian noticed that she was unusually pale.

Sebastian shot Elthina a curious look and did as she suggested. He fell heavily into a chair by the fire as he ran a thumb under the wax, breaking it. He unfolded the three page letter, smoothing it out. Before even starting to read the words, he recognized the hand as his father’s but noted that it was far sloppier than usual—as though he had been in a terrible hurry to write it. _Or drunk._ He looked at Elthina, then Ryon. Their stony faces gave no hint as to what he was about to read, so the archer decided to just dive into the prose.

_My dearest Sebastian:_

_It is high time that I share some things with you—some things you might already know, some you may never understand, but since I cannot come to you directly, for many reasons, it is my hope that this letter will do._

Sebastian looked up from the note. “Ryon?”

The guard said nothing but looked down at the bronze-haired young man and swallowed thickly. Sebastian furrowed his brows as he returned to reading.

_First and foremost, I am so very sorry for being such a miserable failure as a father to you. It shouldn’t have fallen upon your brothers or Granda to teach you things that were my responsibility. It took me years to understand it, but I know that it was my treatment of you that steered you wrong and if I could go back and do it all over, I would do everything differently. Everything._

_Second, I am so damned proud of your progress and how you’ve changed while in Kirkwall. I knew you had it in you, son. I’ve always thought of you as the ideal balance between your brothers; you have Corbinian’s intensity, Gavin’s charm, and you’re smarter than both of them combined. You are so much like your Granda; sometimes it hurts my heart to think about it._

_Colum Vael was the greatest Prince Starkhaven has ever known, and that leads me to my final request of you, though it pains me to ask._

Sebastian felt tears prick the backs of his eyelids. _Sweet Andraste, no…_ The words he had already read were leading to really only one conclusion, and he didn’t want to acknowledge it, though he knew he had to. _There is only one reason I’d ever get a letter like this, delivered by Ryon himself._ He shot one more sideways glance at Captain Ryon, whose lower lip now was quivering.

_I know that a coup is being organized, and that it is almost certain we will fall. We enjoyed such peace under my Da, and I took that for granted. I have failed to properly maintain sufficient Royal Guardsmen to defend the family. It is why I sent you to the Chantry. It was my desperate hope that whoever came against us wouldn’t find you there. I intended to bring you home once the danger had passed—remember why I sent your armor? It is still my intent for you to come home…but only if that is what you want. _

_If you’re reading this, the Crown is rightfully yours now, Sebastian, but if you are truly happy in your service to the Chantry, then it is not my place to demand that you give that up. I know this news must be a terrible shock, and my request a great deal to ask for, but I hope you will consider your subjects’ prosperity and a dead man’s last request carefully before you make your final choice._

_If you do choose to come home to Starkhaven, I hope that you will marry yourself as wonderful of a woman as your Gran or your mother, and that the joy of fatherhood finds you again. It should have never been stolen from you before, and I wish that I hadn’t interfered the way that I had. In retrospect, I should have let you marry Colleen. You were so happy, and I ruined it for you. I am so sorry…I know these words must ring so hollow now, but I truly regret my part in all of this. I feel it’s as much my fault as Rob MacSwain’s for her death._

_Never be ashamed of who you love, Sebastian. Never let anyone keep you apart. That is a lesson I learned far too late in my life._

_Either way—whether you remain in service to the Maker or come home to rule Starkhaven—we will be looking down upon you, ever so proud of the man you’ve become. May the Maker’s sweet light shine upon you forever, son. We love you. I love you. I look forward to the day when we can be together again at the Maker’s side. Farewell, Sebastian._

_\--Father_

Sebastian dropped the letter, the pages floating to the floor, and started shaking violently as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Is it true, Ryon,” he whispered as he stared at the handwritten pages on the Grand Cleric’s carpet.

Captain Ryon knelt beside Sebastian’s chair, eyes shining. “Aye,” he choked as the tears finally spilled over. “It was your father’s strict order to bring this to you no matter what, even though it meant I had to leave your family to such a dreadful fate.”

Sebastian sat, eerily quiet for several moments. He frowned and Ryon saw his jaw set. “Who did this?”

Ryon had never considered Sebastian to possess much of his father’s traits other than his looks, but in that moment—when Sebastian’s blue eyes were as hard as Aidan’s—the grizzled captain knew that this young man had the makings of a capable ruler. He stood again, placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder. _I know who is behind all of it…but I have no proof right now. Best not to set the lad on a goose chase before the truth is clear._

“I’m not sure, mercenaries, to be certain, but I don’t know the name of the group. And I’m not certain who would have hired them. My orders were to leave as soon as they broke into the palace. I learned halfway here that the only survivor is your cousin Goran. He’s been placed on the throne for now.”

“ _Goran_?” Sebastian spat. “He’s not exactly cut out for being a ruler.”

“My sentiments exactly. Whoever ordered the hit wanted a puppet on the throne, and they certainly got it,” Ryon growled.

Sebastian didn’t hesitate, rising sharply to his feet. “I must go back with you. I’ll get my things. We can be on the road within the hour.”

“No,” Ryon said softly, placing a hand on Sebastian’s chest to stop him.

Sebastian backed away from the Captain’s touch, folding his arms. “What? You can’t be serious?” His glare could have pierced holes in Ryon’s armor.

 _As impetuous as ever. Some things never change._ “No, Sebastian,” Ryon reiterated, more firmly this time. “It is far, _far_ too dangerous right now. Not until I know the name of the company that did this, the person who hired them, and can have them all eliminated. You must stay here; nobody knows you’ve survived, or that you’re in Kirkwall. You are the last of your line…Prince Vael.” He got on bended knee in front of the still-seething young man.

_Ryon’s never called me that before, and he’s definitely never knelt before me…Maker, this is really real, isn’t it? Holy Maker, how could You let this happen? My family members were good, devout souls. Surely I should honor them by striking down these murderers and claiming my…_

“Are you truly certain that you wish to return to Starkhaven, Sebastian? Forswearing your vows is not a task that’s easily undone,” Elthina chided, breaking the young man’s thoughts.

Sebastian frowned at Elthina’s words. _And now she’s trying to talk me out of this as well. _“I—I’m not…I didn’t mean to…I don’t _know_.” He stammered and chewed at his thumbnail, an old nervous habit. _But the letter—Father’s words—he wants me to be happy. I am happy here…for the most part. Of course, I do miss my homeland. I miss my mother…_ He realized that even if he went back to Starkhaven, he’d never see his family again. Sebastian sank to his knees as he desperately tried to picture his brothers’ faces when they surprised him in Val Royeaux…but couldn’t. All he had were filmy memories, obscured by the haze that years of too much drink had brought, and in that moment, life in Starkhaven had never seemed less real. Sebastian buried his face in his hands and started to weep pitifully.

Ryon crouched down, wrapping an arm around Sebastian’s shoulder. “Your father and I were here, in Kirkwall, not all that long ago,” he whispered in the Prince’s ear. “We came here to speak with the Viscount—certainly something that could’ve been done by letter—because he wanted to talk to you. But when he saw you so happy, so relaxed…he didn’t want to upset you, so we left. All he ever wanted was for you to find peace, Sebastian, even if that meant he couldn’t speak to you again for fear of bringing back all that old anger.”

Reality was beginning to set in—Sebastian was all alone, the exiled son of a dead Prince, and he had a choice staring him in the face that nobody should _ever_ have to make. “What do you think I should do, Ryon,” Sebastian mumbled.

“Were I you, I’d march right into the palace and take your rightful throne. After I eliminate the outstanding threat, of course.”

Sebastian gave Ryon a stern look. “Then go…eliminate them,” he hissed, before wiping his eyes and standing up. “I need to collect my thoughts. Grand Cleric…Ryon…I’ll be outside should you need me.” He turned and exited Elthina’s office as quickly as he could.

Ryon watched Sebastian leave, resisting the urge to follow him. He turned back to Elthina. “I…I should go. I need to find accommodations for the night,” he said sorrowfully.

Elthina, who had gathered up the pages of Aidan’s letter, handed them to Ryon. “We have extra beds, Captain,” she said smoothly, “And I think I have just the place for your horse. I want you to stay close--I’m sure Sebastian will have more questions shortly, and it is possible you are being pursued by those responsible for the Vaels’ deaths. The Chantry is a safe haven.”

Ryon smiled at this kindness and looked at the paper in his hands. “Thank you, Grand Cleric,” he said crisply, giving the old woman a deep bow. “I can pay for my lodging—”

“Hush, Ryon. I’ll have none of it. Let’s get you a room so you can at least get a hot bath before supper,” Elthina said, leading Ryon out of her office.

It didn’t take long to get Ryon set up with a room, fresh linens, and a steaming copper tub of water to soothe his aching muscles. As Ryon pulled on the single set of plain clothes he had packed, there was a knock at the door. He silently pulled his sword from its sheath and leaned against the wood, listening briefly before responding.

“Who’s there?” Ryon adjusted his grip on the sword.

There was a light chuckle. “It IS you. The rumors were true,” came a familiar masculine voice. Ryon smiled to himself and relaxed as he opened the door. A man in black leathers, with shoulder-length brown hair and wide, gray-green eyes, stood on the other side, smirking.

“Richard. So glad to see you well, old friend.” Ryon stood back and gestured for Richard to enter.

“I wish I were as happy to see you, to be honest. I can’t imagine the Captain of the Royal Guard making a solo visit is exactly a positive sign,” the Seeker muttered as he ran a hand through his wavy locks, while Ryon closed the door. Richard paused, taking a sharp breath as he examined Ryon’s still-weary face. “Something’s happened. Three nights ago, I’m guessing.”

Ryon took a step back, stunned. “Aye. But how—“

“There was a group of mercenaries that tried to get into the Chantry. I nearly fell, but just in the nick—anyway, the strike failed. It was such a sudden, sizeable strike that I just knew something must be happening in Starkhaven, so out with it,” Richard said, leaning against the wardrobe and folding his muscular arms.

Ryon sheathed his sword and sat on the bed, nodding lightly all the while. Folding his hands in his lap, the captain hunched over and let out a huge breath before starting to speak. “They’re all dead. Aside from Goran, Sebastian’s the only living Vael.”

Richard was silent for a long time, chewing at his lower lip before clearing his throat. “I see. Does he know?”

“Aye. Already told him,” Ryon whispered, voice cracking.

Richard approached the bed and sat beside the Captain, his wide eyes showing a slight hint of nervousness. “How did he react?”

 _Why does Richard look nervous?_ “Not like I’d expected. He cried, yes, but…”

Richard interrupted. “He didn’t fly off the handle? The old Sebastian would’ve lost his temper, am I right?”

Ryon glanced at the Seeker briefly and nodded. “Aye. He was upset, sure, but who wouldn’t be? But it seemed…like he was _ready_ to shoulder this burden, to face it like a man.”

Richard let out a small sigh of relief that Ryon didn’t seem to notice. “I’m telling you, Ryon, he really _has_ changed. It’s not an act anymore, like it was in Val Royeaux…in Denerim. I think he’ll make a fine ruler.”

“If that’s what he chooses,” Ryon said. “Aidan said Sebastian doesn’t have to take the throne if he doesn’t want it. And the boy is as torn as can be over the decision.” He rose and grabbed the dead man’s letter from the rickety wooden desk and held it out for Richard.

The Seeker took and read through the letter quickly, not wanting to linger on words meant for a loved son’s eyes. “Who is in power now?” Richard asked hesitantly, acutely aware that the threat to Sebastian’s safety hinged on the answer.

Ryon scowled. “Goran Vael. Alec’s boy.”

Richard failed to hide his shock. “ _HIM_? Isn’t he—“

Ryon put a finger to his lips, shushing the Seeker. He lowered his voice as he responded, “Yes. It’s clear he’s only a puppet. For Starkhaven to remain stable, we must get a capable ruler on the throne as soon as possible.”

“Sebastian,” Richard said without hesitation.

Ryon nodded. “Sebastian.”

“He won’t go if he’s ordered to, or if he feels at all pressured into it,” Richard cautioned. _I know I certainly wouldn’t._

Ryon sat beside the Seeker again, carefully choosing his words. “I know…that’s why I need you to gently steer him towards the idea. Very carefully. It may be a while before I can determine the true nature of the threat, so you have some time to work with. You know the boy— _man_ —better than anyone else, Richard. I trust you know how to go about persuading him?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something,” Richard replied with a smirk before setting his brows in concern. “But what of you? Words cannot express how sorry I am for your loss. I know you were close to the Vaels…much closer than I ever was.”

Ryon’s shoulders sagged and his voice softened, picking up a slight waver as sadness and resignation finally broke the veteran soldier. “I can’t return to Starkhaven. Not yet. My family has taken shelter with my brother in Cumberland. I’ll do what I can from there until I feel it’s safe enough to go back.”

“Good idea. I’ll…let you have a few moments to yourself. We shall continue discussing this over our meal. Supper’s in about twenty minutes. The Sisters are preparing a stew. I’ll see you in a bit.” Richard smiled reassuringly as he got up and left smoothly, the door’s hardware making a soft _clink_ as it shut.

Ryon buried his face in his hands as he realized that it might be much more difficult to get Sebastian Vael to take the Crown than he originally estimated. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he finally allowed himself to acknowledge the deaths of his friends and fear for the future. _Who would rule, if not a Vael? We scarcely have any old nobility left. I’m certainly not going to nominate any of the ‘new men’ to step up, considering most seem to have been involved in the plot, and I’m too damned old to do it myself. What a mess. What a fine mess._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Meanwhile, in Starkhaven…_ **

Eight towering funeral pyres stood in the center of the courtyard in front of Starkhaven’s Royal Palace, a royal standard tacked onto the base of each one. From the ground, all the shell-shocked citizens could see were the brightly colored formal clothes that the Vaels had been dressed in. None could see their faces; none could know that these eight bodies were not actually those of the deposed royals. Johane Harimann had ordered eight of the slain Royal Guardsmen to be dressed and placed atop the pyres in the Vaels’ stead, while their actual corpses were no doubt near the Waking Sea by now, hastily dumped in the Minanter after the slaughter. The people had demanded the right to pay their last respects to the Prince and his family, and Johane wasn’t about to make any unpopular decisions at this critical time.

The wearied blood mage took a sip of her wine as she watched the funeral from what was Aidan Vael’s study. The last three days had been draining; Goran Vael was proving to be difficult to mold, and the newly-minted Lord Stuart challenged Johane’s authority at every turn. It seemed as though everything she told the new Prince of Starkhaven was immediately nixed by the brash noble. _I thought we could work together, but if he continues to stand in my way, I fear I will have to eliminate him as well. I’ve come too far to bow down to a single man now._

There was no knock at the door before Stuart burst in. “Surely you don’t mean to put the ashes of commoners in the Vael Tomb?” He hissed as he slammed the door behind him. “Do you want the Maker to turn his back on us now? Stop this sacrilege!”

Johane slammed her wine cup onto the old oak desk, the burgundy liquid inside splashing out of the pewter and onto the wood. She charged towards Lord Stuart, gray eyes flashing with anger. “It’s not like we can go fetch the real bodies, now can we? The people demanded this circus, what was I supposed to do?”

Stuart stepped back at her words and gave the mage a suspicious glare. “ _I_? Why is it always _your_ decision, Johane? You’re not the ruler of Starkhaven.”

Johane stomped back to her wine cup, draining what was left with a single gulp. “Neither. Are. You, Lord Stuart! I made you, or did you forget already?” She arched a thin eyebrow, daring the Lord to argue this particular fact.

Stuart crossed the room and stood face to face with Johane, nostrils flaring as he readied himself to slap the woman. “Are you threatening me?”

Johane didn’t flinch. “I don’t know…am I?” She called up just enough mana to summon a very mild electrical shock. She discreetly flung it at the Lord, who stumbled backward.

“Fine. Forget I said anything,” Stuart muttered as he rubbed his chest to soothe away the sting of Johane’s magic. “But I’ll be damned if I go down with you if the people learn of your trickery. I do not agree with this.” He left the room as he entered—with a great amount of fuss.

Johane rolled her eyes as she resumed watching the spectacle in the courtyard. A group of men were playing a song on their bagpipes, one that Johane remembered from funerals she attended as a girl. Slowly but steadily, the citizens started to sing the words and the chorus of mourners eventually filled the air with the mournful tune. As the song ended, the Grand Cleric held her torch to the base of Aidan Vael’s pyre. Once it took hold, she moved out from the center, lighting each pile in turn until all eight were ablaze. Once the pyres were burning, the Grand Cleric approached the sobbing Goran Vael and put a friendly arm around his shoulder.

 _‘_ I’ll have to break that boy, I see, _’_ Johane thought as she left the window and sat down to draft some letters. _Can’t have an emotional wreck try to keep this city-state from plunging into utter chaos. Surely some of that Vael hard-headedness flows in his veins? So much to do…and I’m not sure how much I can afford to let Goran’s wishes interfere with what must be done._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Kirkwall Chantry, later that night…_ **

Kirkwall evenings in late Solace were miserably humid, but on this particular evening the air held a crispness that promised a break in the late summer heat. As the moon rose ever-higher in the dusky sky, Captain Ryon MacAllister found he was glad to have grabbed a lantern on his way out into the Chantry gardens. In the far corner stood a stout oak, its gnarled limbs speaking volumes about the years it had bore witness to. Ryon could see a leg, covered by a gold-trimmed white greave, sticking out from the other side of the massive trunk. He approached, sitting on the ground with his back against the rough bark.

“Richard told me you were still out here. We missed you at supper,” he whispered to Sebastian. “Are you alright? Is there anything I can do to help, Your Highness?”

There was a long silence, only broken by the sound of dragonbone armor shifting against bark. “Please… _please_ don’t call me that, Ryon,” Sebastian muttered, followed by a loud sniffle. _Nothing I’ve ever done has made me worthy of that title. Especially not now, not when my family lies dead and I’m still here, exiled because of selfish stupidity. There’s nothing “high” about escaping your true fate. I belong with them._

Ryon swallowed hard. Though he and the Prince had butted heads many times over the years, the Captain considered Sebastian as much a member of his family as any of the other Vaels. Ryon could only imagine the sense of utter devastation he was feeling right now. He spoke calmly, choosing his words with care. “Sebastian, whether you like it or not, you are the heir to Starkhaven’s throne. I know you probably feel guilty about being alive, but trust me when I say your father kept you out of Starkhaven for just this reason. I read his letter, but I’ve known for years that he sent you away not only to protect you, not just to punish you…but to make sure that there would be a Vael to rule fair Starkhaven when…well…”

Sebastian had remained completely still as Ryon spoke, but when the Captain hesitated, there was a sharp scrape of armor on wood. “What? _When_ what?” Sebastian hissed in a demanding tone.

Ryon hesitated, but knew his orders. He flashed back to the night Aidan Vael had handed him the letter; the words haunted him still. _“Captain, I command you…should it become apparent that my life will be forfeit…ride with all due haste to Kirkwall. Deliver this message…and answer any questions Sebastian may ask.”_

The grizzled man drew a deep breath and held it for a moment before exhaling in an exaggerated puff. “How much do you know about Colleen MacDougal’s past, Sebastian? What did she tell you?” Ryon fidgeted, picking up a small twig and running it under his dirty thumbnail.

There was a _clunk_ as Sebastian settled back against the tree. A brief image of his raven-haired lass popped into his head, and it was like losing her all over again. “What _could_ she tell me? All she knew was her life in the Chantry before Gran took her into the household.”

Ryon frowned and cleared his throat. “What I’m about to tell you, Sebastian, may be quite difficult to take. I only hope that someday you will understand why your father went to such lengths to keep all this under wraps.”

 _Great. Every time I start to think I’m moving on, something else always brings her right back to the forefront._ “It’s times like this when I really miss drinking,” Sebastian whispered to himself.

A silver flask appeared at his side, engraved with the Captain’s initials. The younger man gave a light snort as he grabbed the vessel and took a long pull. Much to his dismay, Sebastian found the liquid inside was merely water. “This is the sorriest scotch I’ve ever had,” he said sarcastically, Starkhaven brogue particularly thick over the r’s.

Ryon couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. “Sorry, Sebastian. They made me give up all my alcohol when I brought my things into the Chantry. Maybe I can sneak you out of here and we can get a proper ale to toast your family.”

Sebastian sighed as he reluctantly handed the flask back to the Captain. “It’s alright, Ryon, really. I made a vow to the Maker to give up drinking. I shouldn’t be so quick to reach for the bottle when times get tough. I’ve had more than enough time to think about my actions and learn to handle myself better.”

Ryon smiled at the Prince’s admission, at realizing while there was no doubting the Vael blood in Sebastian’s veins, the exile had done some good after all. _He’ll need that ability to control his impulsivity and temper._ “Fair enough. Let’s see, where to begin? Ah, yes. Colleen’s parents. We discovered that she was the daughter of a Kirkwall noble.”

Sebastian gasped. “She was noble-blooded?” He paused for a while, and Ryon heard a very faint sob. “I _could_ have married her,” he choked out bitterly.

Ryon cringed at the sharp tone Sebastian’s voice had taken. He knew it well; after all, Aidan Vael’s voice often had the very same edge right before he lost his temper. _Oh no…no, no, no. I should have eased into it more slowly. Damn._ “Now before you get angry, hear me out,” he blurted. “We didn’t know. Not until after…well, it was far too late. But we knew it was only a matter of time before her noble father found out and demanded answers, so…your father sent you away. You know, it’s funny—“

“Funny how, exactly? I’m not really laughing over here,” Sebastian snarled.

Ryon frowned. “I’m sorry, sorry…it’s just that for all the threats made to send you to the Chantry for your behavior, that’s not why you were sent there. You were sent because of the threat Colleen’s father posed to not only your safety, but the safety of your father as well. Renly Harimann was a very powerful man.”

At last, the Prince came out from behind the tree, crawling on his knees and glaring at Ryon. “Harimann? Lord Harimann was Colleen’s father? Why would he come after us? He’s a friend of our family.”

“Was. He _was_ a friend of the family, but now he’s dead,” Ryon muttered, trailing off.

Sebastian sat back on his heels, briefly lost in thought. “That’s right, I remember hearing about that.” He looked down at the ground as he considered the timing of Harimann’s death. “Did Father…”

“Mercenaries. Yes.” Ryon said, cutting him off.

Sebastian scrunched his sharp features into a confused scowl. “So if he’s dead, who ordered the strike against the family?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t want to speculate, not yet,” Ryon fibbed. _Aidan, I know you told me to disclose everything, but I can’t on this. Not yet. If I tell him, I can’t trust him to not to lose his mind and march right over to the Harimann Estate…and Johane Harimann is far too powerful to take on alone._

“You’re going back right away to find out?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Ryon continued to fiddle with the twig in his hands. “I’m going to Cumberland. I sent my family there for safety, along with Gavin’s lover, Bryan. From there I can assess the situation in Starkhaven. Once I know that the person behind everything has been eliminated, I’ll come back for you.”

Sebastian sat back on the grass, back against the tree, next to Ryon. “Good, good. How long do you expect that will take?”

Ryon shrugged. “I have some gut feelings about who’s responsible. If I’m right, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks.”

“And if you’re not?” Sebastian’s jaw set.

Ryon dismissed Sebastian’s concern. “Let’s not think about that right now. You’ve got enough on your mind. Come on, let’s go inside. The air smells of rain and lightning.”

Ryon got up and offered a hand to Sebastian, pulling the auburn-haired Brother to his feet. As they walked through the moonlit garden towards the rear door of the Chantry, the rhythmic clink of Sebastian’s scale-mail tunic broke Ryon’s thoughts. “So…why did you put on your armor? You were wearing your vestments earlier,” the captain said, clearing his throat.

Flustered, Sebastian spluttered as he started to respond. “I…I felt like I should be more… _protected_ now. I don’t think I’ll be wearing my robes anymore, not unless the Grand Cleric requires me to do so.”

Ryon scanned the area for danger, an automatic action from years of military service. “I think that’s a very good idea. But you really have nothing to fear. Richard will still watch over you, as he always has.”

Sebastian kicked a golf-ball sized stone off the finely-graveled path. “Not if I return to Starkhaven. His duty is to the Divine, not the Crown.”

“Good point. Perhaps I can lure him away from the Seekers of Truth. I’m no longer a young man, Sebastian. I fear I would not be able to serve you as well as I served your Da and Granda. Richard would be my first choice to protect you.”

Sebastian paused at the door to the Chantry, gloved hand on rough oak, and took in a deep breath. “Do you really think I’m fit, Ryon? Answer honestly. I was a terrible son, and I haven’t always been the best initiate. I wasn’t brought up to wear the crown, either. What I know of ruling only consists of the little bits and pieces I observed from Granda. From what I understand, there’s virtually nobody left that could teach me the finer points of ruling, as I would need.”

“Of course you’re fit, Sebastian, you’re a _Vael_ ,” Ryon hissed without hesitation as he leaned in close. “You were born to rule. You’re smart and charming, two key traits that a good ruler needs to possess. And if you absorbed anything you saw of what your Granda did as Prince…well, you’re further ahead than anybody else who would rule in your place. I’ll help you, as will your mother’s family in Ansburg. You’ll make an excellent Prince. Trust me.” He smiled at the hesitant young man, hoping that it would mask his own apprehension. _Please don’t turn your back on Starkhaven, Sebastian. We need you._

Sebastian looked at Ryon, scanning his face for any tells. Seeing none, he gave the Captain a half-hearted smile and pushed the door to the Kirkwall Chantry open. The pair walked in silence up the flights of stairs to the rooms set aside for the only male Brother and his guards.

“Good night, Sebastian. I hope you’re able to sleep,” Ryon muttered as he entered his room.

“You too,” came the whispered reply just as Ryon’s door clicked shut, but Sebastian knew that he would spend the entire night praying for the souls of his family and guidance from the Maker.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. Sorry it took so long to get this done and uploaded. Life has been very interesting these past few months. Some good, some bad, but all will be right eventually. Anyway, here's the first real chapter. It may be a bit before the next update, but that's because I'm doing some housekeeping and future planning for the series to make sure all the stories mesh together. I hope you enjoy this!


	3. Nothing Stays the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starkhaven's new Prince--or, rather, his puppeteer--has a few changes in store for the citizens. A new arrival in Cumberland forces a major decision.

**_Starkhaven, 27 th of Solace, 9:31 Dragon…_ **

 

Morning arrived and rain wept from ashen clouds. With little fanfare, merchants raised the flaps of their tents, indicating the Starkhaven town market was open for the first day of business since the Vael family had been murdered. A place where citizens could usually mingle and revel in the beauty of their city, the merchant-lined square was abuzz with paranoid whispers and muffled sobs.

A lithe sheep farmer toted sacks of wool from his tiny cart to the front of his tent, arranging the burlap bags with care according to color and taking care to keep the sacks under the small canvas overhang to keep them dry. Beside him, another merchant stacked jars of preserved fruits, jams, and jellies.

“Och, what a mess, innit, Will?” The farmer muttered to his neighbor. “The Vaels all dead, dunno who did it, can’t guarantee won’t happen again…”

The merchant stacked his jars into a neat pyramid. “Right, right. Ye ever met that boy, Goran, Erick? He’s a fuckin’ imbecile, he is.” The topmost jar of the pyramid wobbled and crashed to the cobblestone street, shattering. The merchant threw his hands up in disgust. “The crown oughta pass to another noble line, ‘fore we _all_ start fuckin’ stutterin’ and droolin’.” He crouched down and started to wipe at the splattered jam with an old rag.

The sheep farmer, who had paused to grab a flask of whisky from his pocket, took a swig. “That isn’t the law…he’s in the line of succession. Unless that youngest boy, Sebastian, is still alive somewhere, Goran should stay put.”

Will stopped cleaning up the broken jar and stood quickly. “Like ‘ell he should! And ye think that little womanizing drunk bastard of Aidan’s would be suitable? ‘Ave ye gone soft in th’ head?”

“The lad got shipped off to the Chantry, so I’m sure he’s changed. Laws are laws, whether we agree with ‘em or not,” Erick coolly replied with a shrug.

The instant the farmer finished, both men heard a feminine throat-clearing behind them. Slowly, they turned.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Johane Harimann said crisply as she stood under an umbrella held by her young handmaiden. Both women were accompanied by a tall, chiseled guardsman with spiky blonde hair. Nearby, a carriage stood waiting. “I hate to interrupt your conversation, but I’m here on the authority of Prince Goran to collect your monthly tax.”

Erick’s jaw dropped. “My monthly _what_? Milady, I beg pardon, but my wool tax isn’t due until the first of Wintermarch. See, I’ve got my tax stamp right here,” he said, turning to grab the paperwork from his pack. As he did so, a pouch of lyrium dust fell out of his pocket.

Johane glanced at her guardsman as she unfurled a scroll and started to read aloud. “I, Prince Goran—et cetera, et cetera—do hereby declare on this, the 27th day of Solace…”

The guardsman, noting the illegal lyrium, stormed past Erick into the tent, rustling through containers, obviously looking for any other smuggled goods. The farmer opened his mouth as if to protest, but the guardsman menacingly grabbed for his sword. The merchant, unable to believe what was happening, was frozen in place.

Johane didn’t miss a beat as her guardsman ransacked the tent. “…that the per annum taxation of goods sold at the Starkhaven market shall now be collected monthly…”

A cask’s worth of ale spilled onto the already-mucky grass the tent sat upon, flooding the tent and its contents. The cask itself was tossed hard against the cobblestone street a moment later, and cracked open, revealing a smuggled chunk of blue lyrium. The guardsman snatched it up, waggling it in the farmer’s face before stuffing it in his belt pouch.

Johane raised her voice to overcome the noise level. “…and that the amount of this monthly tax shall be equal to the total per annum and payable only in the new gold coin issued by the Crown…”

Will finally snapped out of his state of shock. “Wait…WHAT? We ‘ave to pay the per annum er’ry bloody _month_? An’ what’s’is new coin ye speak of?”

Johane ignored the merchant and kept reading. “…and if the merchant does not have either the required amount or proper coin to pay the tax, the Exchequer—that would be _me_ —is under royal order to seize as much goods as necessary to satisfy the tax. Signed, His Royal Highness, Prince Goran Vael of Starkhaven.” She started to reroll the decree. “Oh, the decree didn’t explicitly say, but the new coin is being distributed tomorrow.”

“Ye mean to say not only are ye collecting what I pay in a year every fuckin’ month, but I’m to pay it in coin that dinnae exist? An’ since I dinnae ‘ave the coin, you’re takin’ all my goods? No fuckin’ way the Prince ordered that,” Will said, closing the gap between Johane and himself.

Johane sneered. “The Prince understands your frustration, messere, but the fact of the matter is that former Prince Aidan Vael slashed taxes so severely for merchants last year that paying for his family’s funeral has nearly bankrupted the principality. I assure you, this situation is only temporary. Ramsay, please collect today’s tax, if you would.”

The guardsman nodded and started gathering up sacks of wool to satisfy the debt. Erick tried to stop him, but he was no match for a man in armor. Ramsay shoved him to the ground and continued piling the sacks into the carriage.

Will stepped away from Johane to help his friend, his words growing more and more heated. “That shit show nearly bankrupted us? I dinnae believe it. All we got was some roasted royals! No procession, no Chantry rites…how does the Prince figure it cost so much?”

“The Office of the Exchequer does not divulge specifics on expenditures,” Johane said coldly. “Now, messere, do you have the coin or no?”

Will, thoroughly disgusted, shook his head. Johane motioned for the guardsman to seize all of his goods. He and Erick looked on helplessly as their livelihoods were loaded into the royal carriage. Once every last item was stripped from both tents, Johane returned. “The Crown thanks you for paying your taxes. Together, we build a prosperous Starkhaven.” She gave the men a stiff nod and continued along the marketplace.

After a few long moments of stunned silence, Will reached inside his jacket, producing a small bag. He shook it gently, the clink of coins unmistakable. “They dinnae get all of it,” he said with a devious smile. “I need a fuckin’ drink. Ye in?”

Erick nodded. He turned to close his tent, but shrugged. “No point, it’s as empty as my kids’ bellies are gonna be this week. That was nearly a third of my wool…how am I gonna survive?”

“Ain't that th’ fuckin’ truth,” Will groused as the pair left the market, not bothering to shield themselves from the rain. “Bastards are gonna find a real surprise in those strawberry preserves. Would’ve covered my taxes for the next two _years_. Now d’ye think our new Prince is all’at?”

Erick’s soft snuff, nearly drowned out by a thunderclap, was his only response.

A short walk later, the men walked into Starkhaven’s oldest tavern, The Plucked Hen. Inside, dingy leaded glass barely allowed any natural light through, but thanks to the blazing hearth and overhead candles warming the dark wood paneling, the tavern was almost cozy. A smattering of pathetic drunks occupied the tables, each careful to stay far away from the others. A young boy dutifully swept the ancient plank floor. Behind the bar itself, Madeline, the barkeep’s wife, slammed down a shot glass and wiped her mouth.

“Mornin’ fellas! You look like you got hit up by the tax woman too,” the blonde said, gesturing at a sobbing man in the far corner. “Fancy some whisky? On the house, of course. Been a rough mornin’ in fair Starkhaven, I figure.” Madeline grabbed a pair of shot glasses and started to pour before either man had a chance to respond.

The merchants sidled up to the bar and were joined by a fisherman who’d been sitting at the end. He smelled of fish guts and stale ale, his hands gnarled from years of backbreaking work. Erick glanced at his own hands, grateful that near-constant exposure to his flock’s lanolin kept them relatively soft.

 “Aye, ‘tis a sad day for us grunts, innit? Somethin’ ain’t right,” the fisherman slurred through rotted, yellow teeth. The merchants thought he smelled bad before, but his breath was downright putrid.

 “Off on one of your conspiracies again, Merlin,” Madeline said, dismissing the fisherman with a wave. “These men don’t want to hear your stories. They just got robbed by the Crown.”

Merlin finished his ale, some of the golden liquid spilling onto his salt-and-pepper beard. “I’m telling ye, Maddie, I saw somethin’. Somethin’ the day them Vaels got killed,” he said, jaw set.

Madeline rolled her eyes and put a hand on her hip. “Oh yeah? What was it, a golden nug?”

Merlin spat onto the floor and shoved his empty mug towards her. “Shush yer piehole an’ get me more ale, woman, or I’ll tell that husband of yours you been whorin’ again. With  _me_ .”

Madeline chuckled at the obvious joke—bantering with patrons was the best part of her job—and poured another mug of ale, setting it down with a thud. Suds spilled over the side and the fisherman glared at the waste.

Merlin purposely turned towards the merchants, who had been paying little mind to him. “As I were sayin’, I was on the banks of the Minanter, upriver from the palace about a quarter mile. Sun was just startin’ t’ come up when these fellas dressed in black leathers came sneaking down to the banks. Dropped in a bunch of big burlap sacks—about eight or nine bags in all—then left as quick as they came. An hour later, the palace alarm bells sounded. If I had t’ guess, I’d say they dumped bodies— _royal bodies_ .”

Madeline stopped wiping down the bar. “That doesn’t make any sense, Merlin. The Vaels’ bodies were burned on pyres. How could they be dumped in the river AND burned?”

Merlin grumbled something about whores and huddled over his ale. Madeline winked at the merchants and resumed clean-up duties.

Erick finished his whisky and thought for a moment. “Now, wait. What if those  _weren’t_ the Vaels on those pyres? Did anyone actually see the bodies? No. We were told the wounds were too horrific.”

Will perked up at his friend’s theory—he knew Erick well enough to know the farmer would only have spoken up if he thought there were something to Merlin’s tale—and chimed in. “Yeah, an’ I’ve gone t’a lot of funerals. Usually they’re held at a wake for a week before getting’ burnt. The new Prince barely waited three days.”

Madeline paused and furrowed her brow, considering all the men had offered. “Fine. Maybe Merlin  _did_ see something. Do you remember anything else, ye old soak?”

Merlin let out a loud belch. “I think they ‘ad green armbands. ‘Twas kinda hard t’tell.”

Madeline looked around and came in close to the men, and they followed suit. “If you’re telling the truth, Merlin…then I am not sure  _he_ had anything to do with it, despite what the Crown claims,” Madeline said quietly, flicking her blue eyes to the wanted poster for former Royal Guard Captain Ryon MacAllister.

“Of course, I’m tellin’ th’ truth, woman! A fisherman never tells a lie,” Merlin said and leaned back. He finished his ale with a flourish, pleased that people finally seemed to take him seriously.

Madeline considered Merlin’s story, worrying at her fingernail beds as the three men continued grousing about the new Prince and his seemingly right-hand woman, Johane. Madeline’s husband, Paul, emerged from the storeroom with several bottles of whisky, breaking her reverie. Madeline rushed over to him, whispered into his ear, and went up the stairs to their small apartment.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Cumberland, one week later…_ **

 

Elizabeth MacNair squirmed gently against the pillows behind her, trying to get more comfortable. While the pillows were of fine quality, and the room itself was cozy and clean, she’d been confined to this room since arriving in Cumberland. _At least they finally opened the bloody curtains._ Yet, despite her discomfort and utter boredom, Elizabeth looked down at the swaddled, cooing bundle in her arms and smiled. _He’s perfect, in every way. And I see so much of Ewan…_ The thought of her deceased husband brought tears to her eyes. _It’s not fair! Ewan did so much for the crown, and all for naught, because the Vaels died anyway and what kind of world am I bringing up this wee boy in, if nothing we do is ever enough to protect those we love?_

Elizabeth’s train of thought was derailed by a light knock at the door. “Come,” she said, instinctively snuggling the infant to her breast 

Bryan Thom, former lover of Gavin and Bria Vael, entered quietly. He crossed the room to the young widow and her newborn son. “How are you?”

Elizabeth fussed at the baby’s swaddling. “He’s strong and taking the breast, and the midwife says she’s never—“

“No, I asked about  _you_ ,” Bryan said, crouching down beside the bed to be at Elizabeth’s level.

Elizabeth looked down at her son—her miniature Ewan—and started to sob. “I miss him so  _bloody much_ , Bryan. I’m sorry…I know you want to help and I’m so very grateful, but—“

Bryan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Shh. I understand, Elizabeth. He loved you very much and you, him. As for what I offered on the boat ride here…I’m still willing to marry, to keep you from turning into a topic of vicious gossip, but perhaps we should both take time to mourn. We’ve both lost so much.” He couldn’t deny that his heart hadn’t stopped aching, not for a moment, since word of the murders had come. Gavin and Bria had been nearly his entire life for so long, even the thought of opening up to love again someday was too much to bear.

Elizabeth shook her head gently, tears still sliding down her cheeks. “No…no…I know my position doesn’t mean anything now that the Vaels are dead. I’ve got no title, no lands, and no money to my name. I’ve got nothing in this world except my boy and you…who are so gallantly willing to take care of us. Besides, if we don’t marry now, I fear you’ll be ruined for even associating with me.”

“I’m already ruined in Starkhaven because I kept a so-called unnatural lover for years, so I really don’t care about that,” Bryan replied as he dabbed at her tears with his handkerchief _._ “But if you don’t want to wait, Ryon has a sister in the Chantry. He said she can come here and marry us. We need to get the boy blessed anyway. Speaking of…have you thought of a name?”

“I was…thinking of perhaps Ryan, for the man who saved us all, but spelled differently. What do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect. Ryan MacNair Thom.” Bryan smiled at the baby— _their_ baby, now.

Elizabeth grinned at the inclusion of Ewan’s surname. “Alright, it’s settled, then.” She paused, fumbling for her next words. “Look…if you want to keep  _other_ lovers, I can turn—“

Bryan’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but it wasn’t his. He stroked her hair and gazed into her warm brown eyes. “Let’s not worry about that now, Elizabeth. Let’s see where life takes us. Who knows? We might end up being a perfect match.”

Elizabeth allowed herself a smile—one of the few genuine smiles since losing Ewan. “Yes…let’s see where life takes us. I like that.”

Bryan rose to his feet and clasped his hands. “Fantastic! I’ll go speak to Ryon right now. With any luck, we can be married this week.” He left in a flurry, leaving his bride-to-be relieved.

Moments later, Bryan entered the study, a small, stuffy room with dark walls and heavy green draperies. A boring pastoral-themed tapestry adorned the wall behind a small writing desk. A sturdy oak chair was flanked by two bookcases, the shelves hosting more random bits of frippery than actual books. Former Royal Guard Captain Ryon MacAllister and his brother Christian stood in front of the fireplace, engaged in a heated discussion. Ryon was waving a piece of parchment in his younger brother’s face.

“I MUST go, Christian. I made a promise and I will keep it, even at the cost of my life.”

Christian gripped his brother by the shoulders, shaking him for emphasis. “You are wanted for not only  _his_ murder, but his entire family. As soon as you set foot outside these walls, you’re as good as dead. And then what? Who is going to help the boy? Nobody. If you want to help, stay here. Send a messenger.”

“A messenger to whom?” Bryan interrupted. Both MacAllister brothers, who hadn’t heard him enter, turned. Ryon shrugged out of his brother’s grasp and gestured for Bryan to approach.

“Sebastian,” Ryon whispered, despite being in a private residence, clearly conditioned by years of palace intrigue. “I got a letter today from an old friend. The Crown is trying to frame me for the murders, but they claim a reputable source saw men with green armbands out by the Minanter on the morning the Vaels were killed. The source claims they were dumping bodies into the river. My friend says given the timing and that nobody saw the bodies before they were burned…this account cannot be ignored.”

Christian looked at his brother with grave concern before turning to Bryan. “And if that’s the case, Sebastian is still in grave danger. As a member of the city guard, I’m familiar enough with mercenary bands. I’d bet my house that we’re dealing with the Flint Company. That’s a mercenary band that doesn’t leave a job unfinished.”

Ryon nodded. “They know where Sebastian is. I believe they tried to get to him on the same night the rest of the Vaels were killed. Fortunately, between his guardian and the security of the Chantry itself, any further attempts have been thwarted. Mark my words, though…they won’t stop until they get their mark. That’s why I need to ride to Kirkwall, to either get Sebastian out of there or stop the mercenaries myself.”

Bryan swallowed hard, recalling a promise he’d made to Gavin shortly before Ryon asked him to protect his family as they left Starkhaven. “I’ll go,” he declared, his face grim. “Sebastian will recognize me. He’ll know to trust me. I’ll get him and his guardian the information about Flint Company. But I’ll only do it on one condition—I marry Elizabeth before I go. You say you keep your promises, Ryon…well, I do too. This will let me keep a promise to Gavin, as well. Get your sister here this afternoon, and I’ll be out of the city before nightfall.”

Ryon was taken aback by Bryan’s assertiveness. He gave the young man an approving nod.

Christian stepped forward and shook Bryan’s hand to seal the agreement. “Done. I’ll even talk Anna into backdating the Chantry record so it appears you two were wed before the baby was born.”

Bryan patted the younger MacAllister’s arm. “Thank you, Christian. We appreciate it.” He gave a polite nod to Ryon and left to pack.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Meanwhile, in Starkhaven…_ **

 

Johane Harimann mulled over the latest treasury numbers in the Palace study, smiling to herself as she noted the profit margin from the new merchant tax she’d coerced Prince Goran into approving. _Not bad, not bad. Now to start skimming some of this money before Stuart has a chance to look at this._ A sharp series of raps on the door to the study broke her concentration. She scowled at the ledger before slamming the book shut.

“Come,” she barked, tossing down the quill and folding her arms across her chest, prepared to verbally annihilate whoever walked through the door.

“WHAT IN THE MAKER’S NAME ARE YOU DOING?” Lord Stuart slammed the door behind him. He stormed towards Johane, who sat behind a large gilded desk, clearly a new purchase since he’d been here a few days prior.

“I have no idea to what you refer, Lord Stuart,” Johane said calmly, opting to let the temperamental man vent before she went on the offensive. “And might I remind you that the Prince requires you to have an appointment. You cannot simply barge in whenever you please.”

Lord Stuart looked around, arms wide open in a mocking gesture. “I don’t see a Prince anywhere in sight, Johane. Let me guess…poor little fella got sleepy, so you sent him away again. Am I right?”

Johane rolled her eyes at the obvious attempt to provoke her. “The boy has an incredibly short attention span, so yes. I did let him go to his room. But I  _am_ teaching him how to rule, Angus.”

“I hate it when you use my bloody given name,” Lord Stuart muttered. “You’re dodging my question. The taxes on my tenant farmers. You charged so damned much, they can’t pay  _me_ !”

Johane rose from her chair and posed by the fireplace, grabbing a poker and stroking the handle provocatively. “We have to replenish the coffers, Lord Stuart. The Vaels nearly bled the principality dry. It is a temporary situation—two, three months at the very most.”

Lord Stuart closed the distance between them in two large steps, glancing briefly at Johane’s fingers on the gilded handle before remembering his purpose. “Who is the Exchequer? I want to see the ledger.”

Johane ducked out of the Lord’s attempt at intimidation and returned to her desk, placing her hands on top of the ledger to obscure the title. “Well, as most of the ruling class was removed either by the Vaels or  _otherwise_ …I am.”

Lord Stuart slammed his palms on the desk, causing ink to splash up out of the well. His words dripped with venom as he spoke, voice barely above a whisper now. “Isn’t that convenient…you claimed the office of Seneschal before Aidan even finished bleeding out, and now you’re the Exchequer as well? Come on, Johane. How long do you think the people will be fooled before they demand the same thing I am? You’re a fool if you think a woman can serve in such offices in any official sort of capacity.”

Johane knew she had Angus Stuart right where she wanted him. She matched his aggressive stance and stared straight into his eyes, feeding on his thinly-veiled fear. She felt the power the desire demon had given her begin to stir. “And I suppose you’d offer yourself as a replacement for any or all of the positions? That’s laughable, Angus. When I met you, you were a reckless, hotheaded newblood. You weren’t born into this life, never forget that. You were raised to the Barony by happenstance and to a Lordship by ME. You know about as much about ruling as Goran—which is, to say, that it leaves you drooling and stuttering. With that, I’m looking outside of Starkhaven to fill the positions. It is clear you lot are barely more civilized than tribesmen.” As she finished berating Lord Stuart, her irises flashed yellow for a fraction of a moment, too quick for him to notice. Johane’s words may have been inflammatory, but the desire demon’s power had taken its intended effect, tapping into his fear, making him more amenable to her wishes.

Lord Stuart leaned back, semi-enchanted, so close to surrendering completely to the mage’s will yet still fighting. “If your intent is to bring in a man who is good at managing money, then I won’t fight you. But please…consider the few nobles we have left for the other positions. Otherwise, I don’t think the people will stand for their new Prince for long. We fought too hard for our sovereignty. We aren’t going to let outsiders come in and rule us without a fight.”

Johane paused, intensifying her gaze in hopes of breaking Lord Stuart completely. “We have a Starkhaven-born Prince. The people are satisfied. They will accept outsiders,” she said with a fake smile.

Lord Stuart nodded in agreement, almost too far lost to Johane’s power to resist further. “He may be of Vael blood, but the people are already whispering about his ability to rule. Let’s not give the citizens any more reasons to gossip. Put in a Starkhaven man as Seneschal. Bring in whoever you like for the other positions.”

Johane knew she had to give Lord Stuart some concession to bring him under her control once again. She, too, relaxed and spoke with a soothing tone. “Fine. You have made your point. I worked too hard to orchestrate this, only to have the people revolt. I will advise the Prince to name a Starkhaven noble to the Seneschal’s position.” She deliberately avoided discussing the other positions. Her plan worked; Lord Stuart relaxed and grinned as though this was all his doing.

“Do you have anyone in mind for Seneschal?” Lord Stuart asked, expecting her to name him to the position.

Johane sat behind her desk, not looking at the man as she tidied papers and wiped up the spilled ink. “I do. I’ll consult with the Prince first thing in the morning. After all, he has to sign off on the appointment. Thank you for your advice, Lord Stuart. It has helped immensely. Now, I must write some correspondence. Good day.” She nodded and shooed him away.

Lord Stuart, taken aback by the abrupt nature of her reply, left without a word.  _Well…she DOES have to get the Prince to sign off on it. Maybe she is going to appoint me, but just didn’t want to say anything before it becomes official._ Yet, the more Lord Stuart dwelled on the conversation, the more he realized that Johane Harimann had no intention of raising him further, and the nagging feeling he’d had since the murders started to intensify.

Johane waited several minutes, half-expecting Lord Stuart to come back and beg for the Seneschal position, which she had no intention of giving him. Finally concluding that he was no  longer in the vicinity, she called for her Royal Guard Captain. “Ramsay, are you out there?”

Corwin Ramsay strode into the study, his muscular frame barely encased in splintmail. He stopped exactly six feet in front of the desk and bowed deeply. “At your service, my Lady.”

Johane turned on the charm, which wasn’t difficult, given how handsome Corwin was. “Yes, good, Ramsay. I need a special favor. Lord Stuart is to be watched twenty-four hours a day. I trust you have people in place for such a thing?”

“I do. Eyes and ears everywhere, my Lady. Part of being a good guardsman is preventing crime before it happens,” Ramsay replied with an easy smile. He raked a hand through his spiky blonde hair.

Johane pretended to busy herself with papers, to avoid staring at the man for too long.  _Hiring biddable, handsome men is definitely one of the better perks of this job._ “Indeed it is, Corwin. I don’t think I need to tell you what kind of information I’m… _looking_ for, do I?”

Captain Ramsay gave the mage a knowing look. “No, my Lady. I’ll get what you need. You can rest assured of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm so very sorry for the extended delay. Life has dealt me a bunch of stuff since late 2012, and you creative types know how that can affect your "mojo". I cannot tell you how many times I opened up the master file for this story and stared at the blinking cursor, utterly unable to write a single word. Some of the writer's block had to do with how I originally structured the plot. It was full of pacing issues and I wasn't happy at all. So, I restructured the plot progression for the entire SERIES, slowing it considerably. I'm much happier with the sequence of events now, and it's helping me to get the words onto the page. I hope my creativity keeps flowing, as I have plans to carry Sebastian's tale past DA2 and weave it into DAI when it is released. Speaking of our favorite son of Starkhaven, he will be featured heavily in the next chapter.
> 
> Anyway, I really want to thank each and every one of you who have sent me comments, kudos, and even private messages to encourage me to keep writing this story. You have no idea how much this has meant to me, especially since the past year and a half has been so difficult. Your kind words have made all the difference, I promise.
> 
> Finally, I haven't beta'd this chapter. I really just needed to get this posted so I could feel a sense of accomplishment. As such, any errors are all on me.


	4. Schism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian makes a life-changing decision. Richard spies a little bird.   
> Note: Game dialogue in places.

**_Kirkwall, 10 th of August, 9:31 Dragon…_ **

The dim, heavily-draped archive room of Kirkwall’s Chantry was silent, save for the faint _skritch_ of quill on parchment. A _clink_ heralded the completion of another day of work for Sebastian Vael as he dropped his quill into the inkwell with a flourish. He carefully scattered sand on the still-wet ink, pouring it away after a few moments. _Finally. That page took all day to finish._   _I bet I missed supper again._ He sat up, reaching arms overhead to stretch out muscles that had been hunched over for too long.

Creaking door hinges caused him to freeze. A half-dozen scenarios—none good—flashed through his mind as he started to reach for the dagger he kept in his boot.

“It’s only me, Sebastian,” Richard Kendrick said with a light chuckle as he emerged from the shadows.

Sebastian let out the breath he’d been holding and relaxed. “Bastard,” he muttered.

Richard sat on the bench beside Sebastian. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you. It’s just—“

“You’ve been sneaking for years. I get it. It’s hard _not_ to, now.”

Richard nodded and smiled.

“So…I suppose you’re here to convince me to retake Starkhaven…again,” Sebastian muttered. “This isn’t an easy decision, and I won’t be forced one way or the other.” The auburn-haired Prince stood abruptly and began to leave. _He’s nagged me about Starkhaven every single day since Ryon left._

Richard followed suit, pausing to blow out the candle at Sebastian’s writing desk. He trotted for a moment to catch the taller man. “Look, Sebastian, all I’ve been trying to say is that you are the only living, _capable_ Vael. You have a responsibility to your subjects.”

Sebastian jerked the door open, gesturing for Richard to pass through. Once the door was closed again, he jammed a key into the lock and cranked it to one side. He pulled the key out and shoved it into his belt pouch, glaring at his guardian.

Once the men were walking again, Sebastian finally responded. “Aye, but I have a greater responsibility to the Maker. I vowed to live my life in service to him.” Sebastian considered their surroundings. “We should not speak of this so openly. Come.”

_Vows that I clearly remember telling you NOT to take,_ Richard thought as he nodded, and both men proceeded down to the dormitories below the Chantry nave in silence. They entered Sebastian’s room, situated far from the Sisters’ rooms both for propriety and safety. The location also afforded the men a fair bit of privacy from prying eyes and ears.

Richard flicked the lock and turned towards Sebastian. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re a royal. By the very act of your birth, you’re sworn to the people of your land. Caring for your citizens doesn’t necessarily have to contradict your vows. In fact, I believe it would be a direct conflict to let the people suffer.”

“We have no proof they’re suffering, Richard. And what kind of Prince would I be if I didn’t provide an heir? I took a vow of chastity, or did you forget?” Sebastian rolled his eyes as he started to remove his dragonbone armor, which he’d worn since learning of his family’s murder.

Richard stood and grabbed Sebastian, turning the Prince towards him before shoving him against the wall. “Hey. Your father asked you…his _last request_...to return and rule Starkhaven. You may not have seen eye to eye with him on many things, but I have a hard time believing you’d deny his final request. For all your talk of duty and purpose—to be frank, I think you’re full of shit.” He released the Prince’s shoulders and pretended to walk away.

Sebastian’s icy blue eyes flashed with anger and he flared his nostrils as he struggled to contain his temper. Richard’s words had cut deep, exactly as the Seeker had intended.

_He just won’t give up, will he?_ “Fine. So I’ll go back to Starkhaven…and promptly be assassinated because we still haven’t figured out who ordered the strike, nor who carried it out. On top of that, I lack the manpower necessary to do anything about these fiends,” the young Prince shot back, throwing his hands up in frustration.   

“I never said you had to pack your bags and leave _tonight_ ,” Richard snipped, back still towards Sebastian, his hand on the doorknob. “It’s far too soon for you to return, but if you intend to do so, best make the decision now so you can put wheels into motion.”

Sebastian chewed at his thumbnail as he pondered Richard’s suggestion. “Have we even heard from Ryon yet?”

Richard turned towards the Prince. “No, but he said it would be at least a couple of weeks before he returned. It’s scarcely been that long.” He looked long and hard at his charge. He’d watched the young man for five years now, and had stared into the eyes of countless foes since he was a young squire in Nevarra. As an assassin, easily half his skill set was based upon his ability to read his opponent and find weaknesses.

Richard Kendrick knew fear when he saw it.

“You want the crown, but you’re scared,” he blurted, closing the distance between them, continuing to scan Sebastian’s features for tells. “And if I had to guess, I’d say you’re scared of turning into the person you used to be.”

Sebastian looked away, his fine features twisted into a scowl. “How dare— _fine_. Yes. I want it, but I’m terrified of it. Happy?” He looked back at Richard, aqua eyes welled with tears.

Richard softened, and he sat on the edge of Sebastian’s bed, shaking his head. “I don’t get it. You’ve changed so much since being in Kirkwall. Why do you assume you’ll relapse into old habits if you return to Starkhaven?”

Sebastian continued to remove his armor, taking out his growing frustration on the buckles of his chestplate. He stopped and let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, I dunno…maybe because I was on a first-name basis with the brothel owner? Or that I had a reserved barstool at the tavern? I have _nobody_ to keep me on the straight and narrow there, Richard. Nothing but pain and regret and loss. Here, I have Elthina. I have a purpose.” He pulled the dragonbone plate over his head and placed it on his armor stand. _I feel loved_.

Richard stood, gently placing a hand on the Prince’s shoulder and looking him squarely in the eyes. “Sebastian, I promise you…you’d find no greater duty or purpose than to care for the people of Starkhaven. Heal their wounds with help from the Chantry. Unite the people and you will bring them peace and prosperity like never before. Can you think of a greater way to serve the Maker? I can’t.”

Sebastian stared at the floor as he pondered Richard’s words. _Can I do this—can I rule? So many others have seen something in me that I never could…and if my own father wrote that I’m the better than Corbinian and Gavin…I’d like to believe he wasn’t just trying to sell me on the idea of returning. Maker, guide me. I cannot make this decision alone._ He looked towards the ceiling, hoping against hope that the Maker would somehow send him a sign. Finding nothing, he looked to his armor stand, and the bow resting against the wall next to it. He recalled the dream he’d had in Denerim after killing Robbie MacSwain, full of cryptic references and one curiously smart golden hawk. _Well, I’ve got my armor…and Kirkwall IS the city of chains. Perhaps I have to pass through the chains like I did in my dream—leave Kirkwall—in order to reach my true destiny._

Sebastian swallowed hard and extended his hand towards Richard. “If I go…If I do this, I need to know…are you with me?” _Please say yes. I don’t think I can do this without your help._

Richard looked around the room, settling his eyes on the sun tapestry behind the headboard. The brand on his chest itched, a sensation he hadn’t felt before. Usually the enchanted brand burned at the slightest hint of deception; it was the source of his power as a Seeker of Truth, and what set him apart from a standard Templar. _What kind of hypocrite am I if I urge Sebastian to forswear himself if I’m not prepared to do the same? I’ve served the Chantry, the Seekers, and done more than enough dirty work for the Divine…the man who begged Lord Seeker Lambert for mercy all those years ago is long gone. It’s time to do what I want…and I want to help Sebastian._

Richard grinned and clasped the Prince’s hand. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m with you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian nodded gratefully. “I’ll speak with Elthina tomorrow. It…won’t be easy.”

“No, but this is the first of many difficult decisions you’ll have to make, Sebastian. Best get used to it,” Richard said as he left the Prince to his nightly prayer ritual.

Sebastian rushed through his prayer ritual, far too mentally and emotionally exhausted to take any more time than absolutely necessary. He changed into his pajamas and flopped onto the bed, falling asleep before he could even get under the covers.

_KREE-AH!_

_The hawk’s screech startled Sebastian back to reality. He was holding his bow, arrow nocked and pulled, aim dead set on a fuzzy figure several dozen yards away._

_What am I doing—I don’t even know who or what my target is, Sebastian thought as he lowered his bow, recalling his grandda’s most important rule of archery. No sooner had Sebastian released the tense bowstring than a brilliant blast of purple light knocked him off his feet. He tried to get up, but felt an invisible force holding him down. The purple light had faded now, having given way to a horned, mostly-nude woman and though the young man had never seen a supernatural being before, he instinctively knew this was no mortal._

_What is this, a spirit? Demon?_ _Sebastian wondered as he tried to escape, but found the cat-eyed creature had him trapped._

_“Sebastian…you really should have taken that shot,” Allure purred as she bent down to kiss him._

_With the desire demon’s lips nearly upon him, Sebastian tried in vain to squirm out of the magical bindings. That failing, he attempted to turn his face away from the demon, but no longer felt the need to resist._

_Just then, a flash of white light blinded him and knocked the demon back. Sebastian could hear a woman screaming in agony, and when his vision returned moments later, he found that the magical barrier holding him down had dissipated. He scrambled to his feet and saw a petite woman in gilded robes blasting the horned demon with magic._

_“Listen to me, Sebastian, if you want to live,” the woman yelled, still facing the demon. “Get to the throne room!”_

_“What? Who are—“_

_The woman turned to him, her face that of a golden hawk. “GO! NOW!”_

****

**_oOoOoOo_ **

**_The next day…_ **

Sebastian paced outside of Grand Cleric Elthina’s office, internally rehearsing his words. He knew he had to leave the chantry to perform his duty to the people of Starkhaven, and that Richard would keep him from returning to old habits, but Sebastian still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was abandoning the one person who had shown him unconditional love and understanding. _The Maker will understand…I will bring Starkhaven peace and prosperity…but will Elthina forgive me? She warned me…wouldn’t let me take my vows for so long because she feared I’d forswear them…but…_

The paneled oak door opened abruptly, and all the words he’d been rehearsing disappeared.

“Grand Cleric will see you now,” Sister Petrice said coldly as she slid out of Elthina’s office. She walked slowly towards the staircase as Sebastian took a deep breath and walked through the open door. As soon as the door closed behind him, Petrice snuck back and crouched down by the keyhole, peering through.

“Sebastian,” Elthina beamed. “Come, sit.” She shuffled a stack of official-looking papers.

“I…I’d prefer to stand, if I may, Grand Cleric,” Sebastian stammered. He looked down at the crimson rug beneath his feet, desperate to remember his words.

Elthina furrowed her brow and set the papers down, pushing back from her desk. “What is it, my child? In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you nervous like this. Have you received word from Starkhaven?”

“No…not yet.” Sebastian paced by the fireplace, twisting a hand into his slicked-back hair. “But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…soul-searching…” He paused, looking at Elthina with sorrow. “And…I’ve decided to return to Starkhaven.”

“I…I see,” Elthina said quietly, folding her hands in her lap. _You knew he would do this. You knew it and still administered his vows. But…at least this is for the greater good of his people and not the act of a rakish little hellion._

Sebastian went around the desk, kneeling at Elthina’s side. “I-I won’t be leaving right away, of course. I still need time to track down the people who killed my family and gather support from the nobility in Starkhaven. I didn’t leave the…best impression,” he explained.

“Of course,” Elthina murmured, as if somewhere far away. She snapped back to the present. “As I cautioned you before, forswearing your vows is not easily done. Nor is it easily undone, should you change your mind.”

Still on bended knee, Sebastian gently clasped the aging woman’s gnarled hand. “I assure you, Grand Cleric, I won’t change my mind. I have an opportunity to bring Starkhaven back into the Chantry’s fold. I also have the chance to right some of the wrongs I committed in my youth. I believe the Maker has set this challenge before me because He knows I can handle it.” His aqua eyes glittered with hope.

Elthina pulled her hand away from the Prince, folding her arms. “Surely you don’t think you can simply march in and take the throne without bloodshed? Consider how many lives could be lost, Sebastian. Are you willing to have that much blood on your hands?”

Sebastian bowed his head. “I realize lives will be lost, but they will be the lives of the unjust…murderers. Their lives are already forfeit. I will prevent these wicked souls from harming any others.”

Elthina softly stroked Sebastian’s auburn hair, a motherly gesture towards her favored cleric-in-training. “Oh, Sebastian…these matters are rarely as black-and-white as they seem…very well. If I cannot convince you that pursuit of worldly titles and riches is wrong...” She trailed off and stood, placing both hands on Sebastian’s head. He bowed reverently, anticipating a blessing. “Sebastian Vael, I hereby release you from the bonds of Brotherhood and from all oaths you have sworn in the name of Andraste. May the Maker have mercy on your soul.”

Sebastian looked up, blinking in confusion. “That’s it? I thought you said my vows weren’t easily undone.” He stood and scratched his head. _Och…Petrice could’ve done that._

Elthina smiled weakly. “They weren’t…at least, not for _you_.” _But it breaks my heart to lose you to worldly pursuits, my dear Sebastian._ “Stay as long as you need, Sebastian. We certainly could use your help, and it will undoubtedly be safer for you here. You can continue to be a lay-brother and serve in that capacity, but nothing more.”

Sebastian swallowed hard, choking back tears. “Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Thank you for everything, Elthina. I mean it. This wasn’t an easy decision. I shall try to honor you and the Maker in all I do.” He turned quickly, intent on leaving the office before he broke completely. As he opened the door, he saw a charcoal-draped figure scramble around the corner.

“Catch all that, Petrice? I’m leaving the Chantry. _Happy_?” Sebastian spat bitterly as he walked towards the stairs. The blonde Sister froze, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of the inevitable…

“Petrice! Get in here, _NOW_ ,” Elthina barked. Petrice slinked towards the door, head hung low.

****

**_oOoOoOo_ **

**_Later that day…_ **

Bryan Thom dismounted and led his horse through the massive iron gates outside of Kirkwall. He looked around, amazed. _Everything is made of this light stone—there isn’t any green anywhere. All rocks and dirt. How can people live here?_ It was a far cry from his native Tantervale, with its lush forests and abundant flowers, and even more so than the highland Starkhaven, an emerald jewel set in a curve of the mighty Minanter. Kirkwall even smelled funny—briny, with hints of rotted fish and pine tar. A nearby foundry spat plumes of black smoke into the air, masking the intense coastal sun in a greyish veil. Stiff sea breezes swept through the city, kicking up dust clouds. _No wonder so many people have kerchiefs over their faces._

Bryan was so busy taking in the city of chains, he scarcely noticed the throngs of poverty-stricken refugees lining the streets, begging for change or crusts of bread. Suddenly, a particularly desperate man tried to mount Bryan’s horse as it walked. The horse reared, yanking the reins out of Bryan’s loose grip and throwing the would-be thief to the ground before galloping further into the city. A young man managed to stop the startled beast, and his female companion fed it some sort of root, which appeared to instantly calm the dappled grey. Bryan spat a curse towards the downed thief and trotted towards the pair.

“Thank you, serah,” Bryan said with a spooked expression. “I had no idea—“

The young man chuckled. “First time in Kirkwall, eh? Yeah, the refugees can practically smell money. Horses are a rare commodity in these parts. A fine mare like yours would be worth 30 sovereigns, easily. That would feed a starving family for months.” He handed the reins to Bryan.

The woman, fine features framed by an unruly mop of chin-length, strawberry-blond curls, stroked the mare’s nose. “My advice? Get to Hightown as soon as possible. Surely, one of the nobles will have spare room in their stable. If you’re looking for a room, The Hanged Man is the only inn.”

Bryan smiled awkwardly as he shifted his glance from one stranger to the other. “Thanks, uh…”

The young man remembered his manners and quickly thrust a hand towards Bryan. “My apologies. Carver Hawke. This here is my sister, Aspasia.”  

Bryan took Carver’s hand gratefully. “Bryan Thom. A pleasure, and thank you.” He bowed slightly before addressing Aspasia. “What, pray tell, did you feed my horse? She’s usually a nervous wreck around this much activity, but seems perfectly calm now.”

Aspasia produced a gnarled root from her pack. “I gave her a small nub of elfroot. Soothes the nerves and numbs any pain she might be feeling after a long ride. It will wear off in a couple of hours. Word of caution, though; horses can only handle a tiny bit, and very rarely. Otherwise, they’ll get terrible cramps.” She broke off another small piece, handing it to Bryan before stashing the rest.

Bryan stuffed the piece into his pocket. “Right. Well…good that I don’t know what elfroot looks like in the wild, then!” He looked around, intimidated by the massive bronze statues of chained slaves. He realized he didn’t have the slightest idea how to get out of this place, let alone find the Chantry. “Say…would either of you be able to direct me towards the Chantry? I’m in Kirkwall to deliver a message.”

Carver piped up, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “Certainly. You’re in the Gallows now. If you head towards those stairs going down, you’ll be in Lowtown. Keep taking stairs up until you get to Hightown. From there, go through the marketplace—“

“Or we could just take him there, Carver. It’s not like we have anything pressing to do now that I have my supplies,” Aspasia interrupted.

Carver shrugged. “Fine. If you’d like, Bryan, we’ll lead the way.”

Bryan tied a kerchief around his face to keep the dust at bay. “That would certainly be helpful. It might even deter other potential thieves.”

Carver and Aspasia shared a knowing glance. The criminal contingent in Kirkwall were more than familiar with the Hawkes. Indeed, this outsider would be far safer in their presence.

“Come on then, messere. It’s not as dusty up in Hightown,” Aspasia said.

It only took about thirty minutes to reach the Chantry, which wasn’t terrible considering Carver and Aspasia fought over the best route to take. Bryan was pleased to find that the further they got into Kirkwall, he saw more trees and flowers, softening the otherwise harsh city. The trio approached the Sister standing near the Chanter’s Board.

“Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just,” the Chanter said.

Carver rolled his eyes. “Look, I know you can’t say anything except snippets of the Chant, but could you point or something towards the stable? This man is here as a messenger and needs to tie his horse.”

“Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting,” the Chanter replied as she cocked her head to the left. Aspasia noticed a gate, shrouded by vines.

“Thank you,” Aspasia muttered as she led the men to the gate, pulling the bell cord to the right of it.

“The Chantry entrance is up the stairs,” a wearied voice replied. He clearly redirected people several times a day.

Bryan looked quizzically at the vines, trying to find an opening before finally opting to speak to them, despite how silly he must have looked. “Excuse me, um…serah, but I’m here with a message for one of your Brothers and need to tie my horse. We were told the stables are through this gate.”

There was a brief pause.

“Which Brother,” the voice asked cautiously.

“Sebastian Vael,” Bryan whispered into the vines.

The voice spluttered, as if surprised. “Allow me a moment, if you would, messere.”

“Certainly,” Bryan replied, confused as to why the man sounded so apprehensive.

“Well, it seems you are at your destination, so we will leave you to your job,” Carver said, tugging on Aspasia’s arm to tear her away. _Snoopy as ever._

“We really should make sure he gets inside, Carver. Given what happened earlier, I’d feel terrible if Bryan got attacked again,” Aspasia replied smoothly as she yanked her arm out of Carver’s grip. She gave Bryan a polite smile.

Bryan replied with a weak smile as his gut twisted in knots. _What could be taking so long?_ He barely heard soft, careful footfalls approach from behind. Instinctively, the group reached for their weapons.

“I understand you are here to deliver a message… _wait_. I know your face,” Richard muttered when his eyes met Bryan’s. “You…were…with Gavin.”

Bryan barely recognized the former Starkhaven guardsman outside his blue-and-gold armor. “Aye,” he choked, bowing his head. “Ryon sent me.”

Richard eyed Carver and Aspasia hard, apparently recognizing the pair, but said nothing before approaching the gate. “Samuel. It’s Richard. Let us in.”

Carver and Aspasia took that as their cue to leave, nodding politely towards Bryan while avoiding the Seeker’s harsh glare. The vine-laden doors swung inside and Bryan led the horse through, with Richard hot on his heels. Bryan handed the reins to Samuel and grabbed his saddlebags before he continued walking towards the Chantry itself with the Seeker.

Before they entered the massive building, Richard pulled Bryan aside, leading him to a shaded corner of the grounds, not far from where Sebastian usually practiced his archery. “Is Ryon alright? Why did he send you? And how did you wind up with that woman, just now?” The Seeker’s eyes seemed like they could see straight to Bryan’s soul.

Bryan tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. “Sorry, long ride,” was all he could muster before taking a quick swig from his waterskin, not caring that some of the water ran free down his chin. He offered the waterskin to Richard, who refused with a dismissive wave as he leaned back against the cool masonry. “Ryon is fine, but it seems there is a bounty on his head in the Free Marches. He’s been named the prime suspect for…what happened. As for _that woman_ , her name is Aspasia Hawke. A thief tried to steal my horse. Carver stopped my mare, and they offered to guide me to the Chantry so I wouldn’t be attacked again. Why do you ask?” In that instant, Bryan realized he was far too innocent to the ways of the world outside Starkhaven. _What was I thinking? What if they were hired to trail me? What if I led assassins right to Sebastian? I can’t believe I was so stupid!_

Richard, who had been pondering Bryan’s words, suddenly snapped back to the present. “Uh…oh, no reason. I must have mistaken her for someone else.” He gave the young man a fake smile before folding his arms across his chest. “Anyway, of course Ryon would be a suspect…he left as it was happening…it’s only natural that the new Prince would make him the scapegoat, because he can’t defend himself if he’s not there. And he won’t show up if he’s certain to be killed, so there goes the strongest person to challenge the new Prince’s legitimacy. We’re dealing with a very clever adversary,” he muttered to himself.

Bryan, who had downed the rest of his waterskin while Richard spoke, wiped his mouth and took a deep breath. “Right, so I volunteered. I also promised Gavin I’d…I’d…check in on Sebastian.”

Richard, having forgotten Bryan was there, jerked back to reality. “Certainly. Let’s go track him down.”

Predictably, Sebastian wasn’t far away. He was practicing his archery in the far corner of the grounds, the soft _thunks_ of arrows striking paydirt growing louder as they approached. As the pair finally located the Prince in the labyrinth of shrubbery, Bryan failed to stifle his gasp. It had been at least five years since he’d last seen the rebellious royal, and what was once a passing resemblance to his kin was stronger than ever. Between his father’s blue eyes, mother’s high cheekbones, and thick auburn hair, Sebastian stood like a proud ghost of a lost dynasty. Bryan hadn’t considered what seeing the last Vael would do to him emotionally, tears slipping down his cheeks, cutting through the layer of dirt. Richard noticed and patted him on the back, muttering something about the Maker.

Sebastian lowered his bow and reached for his quiver. His gloved hand found another hand instead and he froze.

“Sebastian,” Richard said, “a messenger is here for you.”

“Ryon is back?” Sebastian asked as he spun around. “Wait… _Bryan_?” The Prince grinned, dropped his bow, and wrapped his brother’s lover in a tight embrace.

“You look well, Your Highness,” Bryan said as he returned the hug. The men were quiet for several moments—no words needed to be said—before Bryan pulled back and bowed reverently. He stood and handed the original letter from Ryon’s contact to the Prince.

Sebastian read the letter quickly, gasping when he noticed the name. “Madeline…not _my_ Madeline, is it?”

“I-I’m not sure, sire. I didn’t read the letter myself. Ryon said it was an old family friend.”

Sebastian grinned. “It is…I’m sure of it.” He handed the letter to Richard, turning serious. “So, if I’m interpreting this correctly, someone spotted mercenaries with green armbands dumping my family into the Minanter.”

Bryan spoke while Richard finished reading the letter. “Well, uh, we assume it was your family. The bodies were never placed in state, and burned before anyone could see them. Ryon’s brother, Christian, said that the green armbands are what the Flint Company wear. What I don’t understand is why they would dump the bodies.”

Richard folded the letter, tucking it into his belt pouch. He rubbed at the day-old stubble on his chin. “According to Chantry lore, if a body is left unburned, the soul cannot return to the Maker’s side. In essence, by not burning a body, you damn that person’s soul to wander for all of eternity.” He paused, noticing Sebastian’s face twisting with anger. “Sebastian, the night your family was killed, I fought off a pack of men in black leathers…with green armbands.”

Sebastian grabbed his bow. “Then it sounds like we have our mercenaries. Now to find out who paid them.”

Richard placed his hands on Sebastian’s shoulders in an effort to keep the Prince focused. “Yes, but we should make eliminating the mercenaries a priority. I do not believe you will be safe until the entire band is taken care of.”

Sebastian balked at the thought of engaging in combat so soon after promising Elthina he would keep bloodshed to a minimum, but the thought of his family’s restless souls overrode his hesitation.  “Aye, you’re right. Shall we go out tonight?” Sebastian’s nostrils flared and his eyes danced as he anticipated a hunt. He felt guilty for wanting vengeance so badly, but leaving a body unburned was a highly sacriligeous act that he couldn’t leave unpunished.

“Are you kidding? We’re good, but we cannot take on an entire mercenary company ourselves. You’ll need help,” Richard said, giving the Prince a teasing pair of pats on the cheek.

Sebastian rolled his eyes as he slung his bow across his back. “And where, pray tell, do you suggest I recruit said help? Samuel? Petrice? Elthina? Perhaps Bryan could stick around to help us.”

Richard shrugged. “Like it or not, you’re going to have to hire mercenaries to kill mercenaries. You _did_ get your endowment back, right?”

“Aye.” Sebastian folded his arms across his chest.

“Well, then, put a notice up on the Chanter’s Board. Better than orchestrating some shady dark-alley dealing, is it not?”

“Very well, I’ll go talk to Taletha, get something on the board.” _But does this make me any better than the savages who killed my family? Maker, I believe I am doing what is just. Please guide me._

****

**_oOoOoOo_ **

**_The next day…_ **

Sebastian stood with Chanter Taletha in front of the Chanter’s Board, re-reading his notice one last time. Thanks to some late-night reconnaissance at The Hanged Man and Blooming Rose, Bryan had gotten some specific information on the whereabouts of the Flint Company’s three main hideouts. Sebastian hoped it would be enough to help whoever picked up his notice strike quickly, but it also meant that he had to rewrite the entire notice again this morning.

_To whomever elects to participate in the charitable deed of assisting the Vael family of Starkhaven:_

_His most worthy highness, Prince Sebastian Vael, has provided instructions for anyone brave and noble enough to attempt eradication of the rabble who dared attack his family. Three groups of Flint Company mercenaries have been sighted in the Kirkwall vicinity._

_* One group makes camp not far from the elves of the Sundermount mountain range._

_* The second has been seeking information on the Docks after nightfall._

_* The third is far from the main road off the Wounded Coast; they are believed to have a small campsite well past any known landmarks._

_A princely award awaits whoever finds and defeats all these rogues._

_May the Maker guide you._

_Chanter Taletha_

“Thank you, Taletha, for assisting me in this matter. Are you sure it was okay for me to sign your name,” he asked as he handed her the notice.

Taletha nodded, taking the notice from Sebastian and turning to pin it on the board.

Just then, Elthina approached, having concluded her weekly meeting with Viscount Dumar. She stopped at the sight of the former Brother standing outside of the Chantry, fully armored, with a bow slung across his back.

“Sebastian? Is everything alright?” Elthina asked, closing the distance between them.

Sebastian ran his hands through his auburn hair nervously. “Oh, yes, Elthina. I just need some help in my efforts to return to Starkhaven, that’s all.”

Elthina peaked a silver eyebrow. “On the Chanter’s Board? Give me that, Taletha,” Elthina snapped. Taletha handed over the notice without a word. Elthina scanned the request quickly, scowling at the end. “Sebastian, what is the meaning of this? And Taletha, I’m surprised you would sign off on such a thing!”

Sebastian stepped forward, seemingly shielding Taletha from the Grand Cleric’s anger. “I am using my endowment to reward anyone who has the skill to eliminate the mercenary band that killed my family and now threatens me.”

Elthina shook her head in disbelief. With the notice still in hand, she began to walk away. Sebastian grabbed her wrist, plucking the notice from her wiry hands and returning to the Chanter’s Board. Elthina stormed after him. “Sebastian! Stop…this… _MADNESS_! The Chantry cannot condone revenge!”

Sebastian pinned the notice on the board anyway, seemingly just high enough to be out of Elthina’s reach. The auburn-haired archer turned to face her, defiant. “It is my right, my _duty_ , to show these assassins there is nowhere in the Free Marches to hide!” He strode away, bent on getting away from the Chantry that had felt so confining as of late. _Elthina knows how much my family meant to me. How dare she try to deny me the opportunity to seek justice for their deaths? And not only that, but they tried to kill ME. She should realize I’m not safe as long as these murderers live!_

The Grand Cleric screeched as she reached up on tipped toes to snatch the man’s notice from the board. She waved it victoriously. _“This_ is murder!”

_Enough,_ Sebastian thought as he pulled the bow from his back and nocked an arrow, releasing it with a motion so quick, so accurate, that Elthina scarcely noticed what he had done until she went to tear up the note and saw it was no longer in her hand.

“NO. What happened to my _family_ was murder!” Sebastian spun around so quickly that he didn’t notice two women and a young man almost right behind him. He jostled his shoulder hard into one of the women, knocking her back into the man, who was just quick enough to steady her.

_Sebastian, you idiot, you just ran over that poor lass._ He stopped, returning in a flash so graceful it looked like he glided on air. The anger that had just been written all over his body was gone, replaced by concern for the person he had practically run over.

“Are you alright, Serah,” Sebastian gasped. “I’m so very sorry. I let my temper get the better of me, and I didn’t see you there,” he muttered as he knotted his brows in concern. Sebastian gently gripped her shoulders as he carefully searched the woman for any outward sign of injury. Satisfied that she was not actually hurt, he helped the woman to her feet, looking into her deep blue eyes apologetically. _Maker’s Breath, what a beautiful woman._

The woman rubbed her shoulder lightly and pushed her unruly mop of reddish-gold curls out of her face. “I’m fine, really. I caught the tail end of your, ah, _discussion_ there; it sounds like you have good reason to be upset.” _Is that…a Fereldan accent? She’s a refugee?_

Sebastian hung his head. “Aye,” he replied softly. “I just lost my family to a pack of assassins, and I’m desperate to avenge them.” _You wouldn’t happen to be a mercenary, would you,_ he was aching to ask. The weapons strapped to the motley crew hadn’t escaped his notice. As Sebastian looked down, he noticed her milky white thigh…with a dagger strapped around it. He slowly looked back up, noticing that her robes skimmed her curves in a very favorable way. _There’s nothing wrong with appreciating the fine forms that the Maker gives to his children, just so long as I don’t act—oh._ Then he noticed the stave strapped across her back and swallowed hard. _Well. I guess I can no longer say I haven’t met a non-Circle mage._

“Your _whole_ family? I’m very sorry to hear that,” the woman said sadly. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times as though to add more, but clearly opted not to. The forlorn look on her face told Sebastian that she was dealing with some sort of loss as well.

“I-I was as well,” he choked, full of angst over Elthina and his family. “I…must be going. Again, I’m sorry for running you over. Please forgive me.”

The woman smiled warmly. “All is forgiven, messere.” Sebastian nodded respectfully towards the woman and her companions before walking away from the Courtyard, his strides long and powerful. _I need to find somewhere to pray._

Richard, who had witnessed the entire argument, emerged from a nearby group of bystanders he’d been hiding in and quickly fell into step with the Prince. “So… _that_ didn’t go over well.”

“No. I will apologize to the Grand Cleric after I’ve had some time to reflect. I do hope that young lady is alright.”

Richard shot a look over his shoulder just in time to see the male—Bryan had called him Carver Hawke—pluck what appeared to be Sebastian’s notice from the Chanter’s Board. He also recognized the woman with the reddish-gold hair and narrowed his eyes when he spotted her stave. _That woman! Again!_ He could no longer shake off these run-ins with the Hawkes as mere coincidence. The knot in Richard’s stomach tightened further, but he decided to keep quiet until he could learn more about the mysterious mage.

“Yes…I do hope she is alright as well,” Richard muttered as he and the Prince made their way through Hightown.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

**_Lowtown, that night…_ **

A sharp series of raps woke everyone in Gamlen Amell’s tiny apartment. Gamlen cowered in his bed as Carver Hawke stumbled out of bed, pausing at Gamlen and Leandra’s shared room. “Mum, stay where you are and don’t say a word. Uncle…just…ugh…whatever.”

Carver grabbed his blade and continued towards the door. He fumbled with the deadbolt for what seemed like minutes before finally sliding it free. Carver had scarcely opened the door when a man, clad in all-black, barged in and shoved the younger Hawke against the wall, pinning him.

“Gamlen, what have you gotten us into now?” Leandra hissed, trying to muffle herself with a pillow.

Gamlen shook his head, wide-eyed, as if pleading innocence.

Meanwhile, the intruder glared at Carver for a moment before pulling off his hood. “Where’s your sister,” he demanded.

Carver vaguely recognized the man as the one from the Chantry the day before. “I beg your—“

“I’m right here, you sonuvabitch,” Aspasia hissed from the door of her and Carver’s bedroom. She had her stave out, the tip crackling with energy.

Richard quickly cast a mana-draining spell, knocking Aspasia to the floor. He sucker-punched Carver, knocking him out, and descended upon the strawberry-blonde mage with daggers drawn.

“Who do you work for,” the Seeker growled, gray-green eyes practically glowing. Aspasia could have sworn they burned right through her. She tried to look away, but it was as if the man had magically locked his eyes onto hers.

“Nobody,” Aspasia grunted, trying to squirm out of Richard’s grip but failing.

Richard held his dagger to Aspasia’s neck, the enchanted blade burning her skin as soon as it touched. She writhed in a pain she’d never felt before. It burned and froze in equal measure, and she could feel her mana draining even further. She desperately tried to squeeze her eyes shut, but Richard still had his locked onto hers. “I should have known yesterday that you are a mage. Do you have any idea who you’re messing with?”

“Someone with Templar training, obviously,” Aspasia shot back between pained grunts. “So, are you here to drag me off to the Circle?”

Richard pressed the dagger further into her skin, a thin red line prickling beneath its edge. “Not yet. Tell me who you work for. Who hired you?”

Aspasia screamed in agony, and Richard realized he wouldn’t get anywhere with his questioning if he hurt her any further. He pulled the dagger away and allowed the mage to catch her breath.

Aspasia swallowed hard. “Nobody, I swear. I mean, we _used_ to work for the Red Iron, but we fulfilled our contract. Now we just do random jobs to make coin—wait. _Waaaaaiiiiiiit_. You’re that knight we helped outside the Chantry a few weeks ago! I thought I recognized you yesterday.”

Richard did a double take. “ _That’s_ why I know your face,” he growled. “That still doesn’t explain why you keep showing up. For all I know, you’re one of them.”

By this time, Carver had come to. He approached, blade pointed cautiously at the Seeker. “One of who?”

Richard shot a menacing look at Carver, who wisely lowered his blade. “The Flint.”

Carver scoffed. “Are you kidding? Flint Company are the mortal enemies of the Red Iron. If we so much as thought about joining the Flint, Meeran would have us killed before we could finish the thought!”

Richard glared at Aspasia again. “So you didn’t deliberately pick up that notice on the Chanter’s Board?”

Aspasia coughed and drew a hard breath as the Seeker’s cleansing spell began to wear off. “Well, if by deliberately, you mean to deliberately earn coin, then yes.”

Richard eased off Aspasia at last. “You swear on your life that you and your brother are not hired to murder Sebastian Vael?”

“Sebastian who?” Aspasia asked, confused. “Oh, you mean that hot guy who posted the notice? Hell no! If anything, I’d buy him a drink, since he just lost his whole family. I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love. So…yeah…you got me. He’d just posted the notice, and when he explained what had happened after he literally ran me over, I thought I’d try to help if I could. That the Flint are former enemies of ours anyway is a bonus.”

Richard stood, offering a hand to Aspasia. “So you showing up at the Chantry yesterday with the messenger was also just a coincidence? You weren’t hired to follow anybody?”

Aspasia shook her head. “The only reason we were in the Market at all was for me to get supplies to make more health potions. Right place, right time, I guess. Your messenger nearly got robbed. We stopped his horse from running amok through the Market.”

“My sister doesn’t know how to lie, messere,” Carver grumbled as he set his blade aside. “She’s honest to a fault.”

Richard looked at Aspasia, scrutinizing her face. He’d witnessed the scene at the Chanter’s Board, so there was no reason to doubt her version of what had happened. Looking into her eyes, there were no signs of deception. Furthermore, the brand on his chest was painless. Aspasia Hawke was telling the truth.

“Very well. I will allow you to complete this task for Prince Vael.” He tossed a small bag of coin at Aspasia. “Here’s half the reward. You’ll get the other half once you complete the job.” Richard scanned the dump Aspasia and her family called home. “Surely that should motivate you?”

Aspasia and Carver nodded simultaneously.

“Good. After you finish this job, I expect I won’t see you again?” The question was a clear threat.

“Hey, now, you can’t tell us where we can and can’t go, that’s not fair,” Carver interjected. “If we do this job for Prince so-and-so, I think that should prove we aren’t out to harm him. Hell, I think he should give us land, or titles, or…something.”

“Carver, let me handle this,” Aspasia chided before turning to Richard. “We will do our best to avoid you and Prince Vael. But Kirkwall isn’t exactly the biggest city, so it might happen despite our efforts. Plus, if he posts another notice on the Chanter’s Board, those are fair game. If we can do the job, we’ll take it.”

“That’s a mighty big IF, serah Hawke. Flint Company wiped out the entire Palace Guard and royal family. I highly doubt you’ll complete the…” Richard trailed off as he recalled how easily the Hawkes had handled themselves on that first night they’d met. Combined with Aspasia’s unwavering gaze, he had a change of heart. Trustworthy souls _were_ hard to come by, even more so in Kirkwall, and Richard needed go-to people he could trust. _She could even be an ally_. “I tell you what… _if_ you survive this…I’ll contact you personally if Prince Vael needs any further assistance. But do _NOT_ come poking around the Chantry looking for work.”

Carver was gobsmacked, but Aspasia pressed further. “What if I want to come to the Chantry for services? Surely you wouldn’t deny me succor for my wounded soul?”

Richard let out an exasperated huff. “ _Fine_. Just stay away from Prince Vael.” He shook his head and chuckled softly. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a persistent little thing?”

Aspasia grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite as quick a turnaround for this chapter as I'd have liked, but hey...at least it didn't take a year, right? BIG chapter, and I'm sorry (not really) to dump so much, but I needed to advance Sebastian's plot so I can get to work on the romance part of the story. That IS what we're all here for, right? ;-)
> 
> Not beta'd, so all errors are mine. Thank you, as always, for all the kind feedback. Y'all mean the world to me!


	5. On Thin Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new Prince stumbles, Hawke learns her new associate is bad news, and a Lord is forsaken.

**_Starkhaven, 30 th of Kingsway, 9:31 Dragon…_ **

Starkhaven’s morning sunlight poured through giant panes of stained glass, illuminating the scenes which depicted the history of the principality while casting sheer splashes of color on the polished marble floor. The faint scent of oil soap hung in the air, masking the staleness of disuse. For the first time since Colum Vael died—and just two months after the coup that killed his descendants—the Throne Room would be open to the public. Palace servants scurried around the refurbished space, ensuring every last detail was in place for the day’s business. One young man swished a feather duster across the gilded seat of the throne itself, nervous sweat beading at his brow. A stout brunette snipped the stem of a rose before carefully placing it in one of the huge floral sprays on either side of the raised dais. Two of the younger servants pored over the red aisle runner, plucking away random bits of debris. Behind the throne, a man on a lofty ladder secured a new blue-and-gold banner with the Starkhaven _lion rampant_ to the rafters. The bottom of the massive standard just grazed the dais.

Johane Harimann stood in the massive double doorway to the Throne Room, arms folded across her chest as she looked on with disdain. A woman carrying buckets of dirty mop water on a yoke across her back did her best to curtsy before the defacto ruler of Starkhaven. Johane sniffed and barely stepped aside at all. As the servant tried to turn sideways to fit through the gap, one of the buckets hit the doorframe and gray water splashed out, spattering Johane’s skirt.

“FOOL! Look at what you’ve done!”

“I’m-I’m so sorry, Madam,” the maid said as she gently lowered the yoke to the ground and desperately tried to dab at the water spots with her handkerchief.

Johane tugged her skirt out of the woman’s hands. “You’re making it worse, clumsy oaf! How did you get assigned to Palace duty? You’re not fit to shovel my horse’s shit. Be gone!”

The maid, unsure if this was a temporary dismissal or true firing, kept her head down as she scrambled to get out of the noble woman’s sight, wiping at hot tears with the back of her hand.

“You there,” Johane barked at the nearest man, “Clean this mess. I have to get the Prince ready.” The man nodded and rushed over to retrieve the water buckets as she spun on her heels and strode away.

At half-past nine, the waiting crowd stood as the door to the Prince’s side chamber opened. Everyone watched the door expectantly, but nobody emerged. After several long moments, Goran Vael stumbled out onto the dais, as if pushed. The crowd gawked at the young man who, at only five feet tall, was dwarfed by the regalia of the Crown. He shuffled awkwardly towards the throne, mouth agape, eyes fixed firmly on the planked platform. Turning his back towards the citizens, Goran clamored up the final steps to the throne, squirming against the ermine-trimmed cape that had twisted itself around his thin frame as he hoisted himself onto the massive chair. Finally, he settled into place and adjusted his crown. He looked out at his citizens and felt all the blood drain from his face as his stomach churned. Swallowing hard, he tried desperately to recall what Johane had told him to say. As he opened his mouth to speak, the crier interrupted him.

“The court of His Royal Highness, Prince Goran Vael, is now open to the people!”

 _Wait, wasn’t I supposed to open my own court?_ Goran shrugged this off and tried to hide his horror as several dozen citizens clamored to be the first in line.

The first citizen was a young lady who had come by to wish the Prince good health and good luck in finding a wife. Goran nodded and smiled, as Johane had instructed him to do. As the woman left the Throne Room, a guardsman dropped a small bag into her hands, reward for a job well done.

The next citizen to approach wasn’t quite as friendly.

“Mornin’, Your Highness,” the willowy man started as he wrung his hands, “Name’s Erick Craster. I’m a sheep farmer. Or…I was, until your taxes forced me to sell my flock. Now I’m looking at losing my home, too. My family provided wool to the Royal Family for five generations…that’s all over now. I got six kids to feed and another on the way. How can I keep my family housed and fed when all of my money goes to you?” Tears spilled from the farmer’s eyes, leaving clean trails on his dirty cheeks. The vast majority of the people present started to grumble in solidarity with the farmer’s struggle.

Goran’s eyes darted around the room and he felt his chest tighten as he scrambled for any words to defuse the situation. Before he could speak, Johane stepped in front of him.

“Now, now, my good man, it is not the Crown’s—“

“We didn’t come here to petition YOU, outsider,” yelled a random man in the crowd. The citizens shouted in agreement and started to push forward towards the throne, straining against the rope barrier. At the back of the room, Lord Angus Stuart cringed and inched his way towards the exit.

“Yeah! Step aside, woman! We want to hear our Prince!”

Johane demurred and stepped aside, leaving Goran to handle the escalating situation on his own. He looked to Johane helplessly, but the woman ignored him.

“I-I understand why you…m-mad,” Goran started. The people stopped their grousing and stared at the young man. “B-but we needed to…m-money.”

“So you’re saying the taxation will end soon,” the farmer asked, not entirely sure he interpreted the Prince’s halting speech correctly.

Goran glanced to Johane, who gave a quick nod. “Yes,” he blurted, grinning.

“Dinnae why yer grinnin’, Yer Highness,” another merchant growled, stepping from the crowd to stand beside the farmer. Johane recognized him as the lyrium-smuggling jam maker from the market. “Stoppin’ the tax now dinnae help us who’ve already gone under.”

The crowd rallied around Will’s statement, with shouts of “Refund!” and “Make it right!” rising from the clamor.

“We…do what we can,” Goran stuttered.

Captain Ramsay stepped forward, voice booming. “Order, order, ladies and gentlemen!” Guardsmen posted around the room started to pull at their swords. The majority of the crowd, realizing a massacre was about to take place, wisely returned to their rows of benches.

“I-I also needed Seneschal, and have man for…j-job,” Goran said, trying to mimic Captain Ramsay’s authoritative baritone.

A finely-dressed young man stepped out of the side chamber, striding confidently towards the throne, puffing out his chest as he stood between the Prince and Johane.

“Greetings, fair Starkhaven,” the man started smoothly. “I am Brett Harimann, and I am your new Seneschal. I promise to uphold your constitution and ensure Starkhaven has a prosperous future.”

A flame-haired man barged forward towards the barrier. “Harimann? That’s Johane’s kin!”

“Of course I am, I’m her son,” Brett replied with a snotty tone. The crowd erupted into jeers.

“We won’t stand for this,” the man yelled. “We know what you’re trying to do, and we won’t let Starkhaven be overtaken by some upstart nobles from bloody Kirkwall, of all places.” He turned and walked out. Lord Stuart caught him right outside the door, pulling him into the shadows.

“Did I hear that right, MacGregor? A Kirkwaller Seneschal?”

The flame-haired man nodded bitterly. “Aye.”

Lord Stuart seethed at Johane’s broken promise to him. It was crystal clear in that moment that she never intended to relinquish control. As much as he had hated the Vael family, Angus knew he could not allow a blood mage to hold that much power. “We need to talk, but not here,” he whispered.

Shane MacGregor nodded grimly. “I’ll be at the brothel.”

The pair left the dark corner separately, to avoid rousing suspicion.

Just over an hour later, Lord Stuart entered the brothel, not bothering to conceal himself despite his status. The establishment, he reckoned, had been popular enough with the royal family, so why should he bother skulking about like a criminal? Besides, he was portly and balding, like many Starkhaven men his age. He blended right in with the usual clientele.

Sins of the flesh were the last thing on the Lord’s mind as he scanned the main hall. Lilting rhythms of drum and lute filled his ears, along with bawdy banter and the occasional guffaw from a well-sauced patron. Scantily-clad women and men alike sauntered from table to table, peddling themselves as a merchant might sell a piece of silver plate. The air hung heavy with the scents of incense, leafsmoke, and ale, tinged with just a little sex. Stuart spotted his mark and made a beeline for the corner table. He sat down, facing the room, and barked an order for rum at the serving wench before she could even ask what he wanted.

“That rough of a day, eh?” Shane MacGregor muttered as he fidgeted with his pipe. Small talk had never been his forte, but that was the least of his worries. He knew all too well that what he was about to engage in could get him killed.

“Are we secure here?” Lord Stuart’s eyes darted around, looking for anyone who was paying the least bit of attention to his presence. Satisfied by what he _didn’t_ see, he relaxed against his chair. 

The flame-haired former Royal Guardsman took one last pull from his pipe. “We are, but no names, just the same.” His words shaped the smoke floating from his lips.

The wench delivered Stuart’s rum and another ale for MacGregor. Stuart knocked his back in two greedy gulps and wiped his mouth roughly. He snapped his fingers at the wench, who nodded and returned to the bar for more rum.

Lord Stuart let out a sigh, relishing the burn of the liquor in his mouth. “Sorry…it’s just…well…you know.”

“Aye. Didn’t think we’d have to be dealing with this sort of stuff so soon after…” Shane trailed off, looking at his pipe. _Still can’t help but think we could’ve let the Vaels live._

“Me either, trust me,” Stuart muttered as the wench returned with his second rum. He sipped this time, the edge of his nerves somewhat tamed by the first glass. “But you saw the _situation_ firsthand. I’ve known of this for months.”

“Right…but if we fix the _problem_ , what next?” MacGregor dumped the spent ashes out of his pipe and fished in his pocket for a bag of smoking leaves.

Stuart twisted his face in to an exaggerated grimace. _Here goes nothing._ “I hate to suggest my services, because it’s not my goal to lead, but I’m next in line now. It’d be a heavy burden, but…”

Shane peaked a lone eyebrow as he noted the Lord’s obvious attempt to mask his ambitions. Tamping down his pipe’s contents, he paused. “I don’t think, after what’s transpired over the past month, that the citizens would argue,” Shane said, sticking a wood taper down into the table candle and transferring the flame to his pipe. He puffed vigorously for a moment to get the leaves lit, taking a long pull once he was satisfied with his work. “Say…did we ever get confirmation that the Flint were able to finish the job?” 

“No,” Stuart spat as he shook his head. “In fact, I’ve yet to hear anything from them since…well, you know. I tried to bring that up to _her_ yesterday but she wouldn’t hear me. Say…can I have a pull?”

“Certainly,” Shane said as he handed the long pipe to his friend. “But we need to find out if it’s done. We could have a real mess on our hands if it’s not.”

Stuart took a couple of quick puffs and handed the pipe back to MacGregor, leaning back into his chair. “Pfft, hardly. Don’t you remember how he was? No threat, there.”

MacGregor furrowed his brow, flame-colored eyebrows knotting into one continuous line across his otherwise fair face. “Allies could make all the difference, Stuart, for good or ill.”

Stuart waved a dismissive hand in the guardsman’s direction. “Bah. It’s as good as done. The Flint never fail. Now…on to the more pressing matter. We cannot allow the current situation to continue.”

“I’m telling you, I can’t shake this gut feeling about the Flint,” Shane muttered as he stared into his ale, seeming to hope the amber liquid would provide some sort of answer to their predicament.

Stuart sat forward again, rolling his eyes. “Oh, fine. I’ll get a message to that leader of theirs…Slade, was it? We’ll find out and go from there.”

“And if it’s not done?” Shane’s voice had the slightest waver now, and he took a panicked gulp of ale.

“We proceed with the plan anyway. Use history to our advantage. _His_ history, specifically,” Lord Stuart growled.

Shane shifted his gaze back and forth, finally nodding reluctantly. “Aye, just as long as we get rid of our problem.”

“Good,” Stuart muttered as he finished his rum and shoved away from the table. “A pleasure, as always. Give my regards to the lady, would you?”

Shane nodded absentmindedly, staring off into the distance as Lord Stuart left the brothel. He slowly finished his ale before leaving several minutes later.

At the next table, a strawberry-blonde sporting an elaborate floral wreath flirted with her current patron, blushing and smiling coyly at all the right moments. As the men in the corner spoke, she occasionally adjusted her wreath, being careful to keep her ear cocked towards them at all times. Once they left, she feigned thirst and excused herself. Instead of going to the barkeep, however, she made a beeline for the room behind the bar and slipped on a long cloak before stepping out into the rear alley. Once outside, she pulled the wreath from her hair, carefully removing the small ear trumpet concealed within the blooms, and stashed it in an empty barrel next to the door. She flipped up her hood and walked briskly towards the palace.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

****

**_Kirkwall, first of Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon…_ **

The sun blazed high in the sky and vultures circled overhead as Richard Kendrick walked briskly through the Gallows towards the Templar Hall. Despite the chill in the autumn air, he was sweating profusely in his official Seeker armor, which he’d rarely worn since tasked with protecting Sebastian Vael. Today was the first time in nearly a year that the Seeker-turned-bodyguard had been personally tapped by Justinia V to complete a task. The murder of a Tranquil within Chantry walls had the Divine and Circle of Magi demanding answers.

_How could such a thing happen right under my nose? What if that had been the Flint Company, back to finish the job? You’re losing your edge, Kendrick. The bodyguard life is making you soft._

Richard trotted up the last few steps towards Knight-Commander Meredith’s office and rapped on the door. The command to enter came before he’d even finished knocking.

“What is it,” Meredith asked without looking up, scribbling furiously in some sort of ledger.

Richard, annoyed by her lack of decorum, cleared his throat dramatically before speaking. “I am Richard Kendrick, Knight of the Seekers of Truth, on business for Most Holy Justinia the Fifth. I would suggest you _rise_ and properly salute your superior, Knight-Commander.” He hated pulling rank, but he’d heard enough stories about the brash woman that if he didn’t establish authority now, she’d try to run him over.

Meredith stopped writing in mid-sentence and looked up, scrambling to her feet as soon as she saw the blazing eye of the Seekers. “My apologies, Seeker Kendrick. I had no idea you would be coming,” she blurted as she saluted the man.

Richard smirked, satisfied that he’d managed to rankle the unflappable Templar. “This isn’t a social call, unfortunately. The Divine wants to know who would possibly want a Tranquil dead, and has tasked me with leading the investigation. I require any and all information you have.”

Meredith slumped into her chair with a heavy sigh. “A dozen men, including one of my most promising Lieutenants, all dead. I want his head, Seeker. I want it now.”

Richard gracefully took a seat, brushing back a stray lock of hair. “Whose head?”

“Anders,” Meredith spat. “A rather infamous apostate who recently arrived from Ferelden. Tricky bastard managed to get himself made into a Grey Warden, so we can’t bloody touch him. But, he wasn’t alone, so I plan to go after his crew.”

Richard sat forward, at once both curious and concerned. “You are certain Anders had accomplices?”

Meredith flipped through the ledger on her desk, pausing at a specific page and scanning it quickly. “Yes. Fortunately, witnesses saw a dwarf, a young man with dark hair, and a young blonde woman with him. All armed.”

Richard shook his head. He knew from his contacts around Kirkwall that there was only one dwarf who would dare associate with mages—Varric Tethras. He also knew that Varric was a friend of one apostate in particular: Aspasia Hawke.

“I see. Well, as it stands, Knight-Commander, The Divine has tasked me with investigating and resolving this matter. I must insist that you—and your subordinates—not interfere. Thank you for your assistance,” Richard boomed as he stood and walked out of Meredith’s office, leaving the hardened woman with her mouth agape. He stormed out of the Templar Hall and headed towards Lowtown. Somebody had a lot of explaining to do.

Richard’s first stop was Gamlen Amell’s hovel. After learning from Leandra Hawke that her children were likely to be at the local tavern, Richard made a beeline for The Hanged Man. The lively crowd fell dead silent when he strode through the door, decked out in his black-and-white Seeker armor. A Rivaini woman in a short white tunic and thigh-high boots gave him a lecherous once-over, despite his obvious affiliation with the Chantry.

“I need to speak with Varric Tethras, if you would,” Richard asked Corff, who had swallowed hard and dropped his bar towel when the Seeker approached. Corff recovered his senses and nodded, but before he could go fetch the dwarf, Varric descended from the second floor, taking each step with his distinctive swagger.

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” the dwarf said with a false smile and exaggerated bow.

Richard approached the arrogant dwarf. “Can we go somewhere to speak in private?”

Varric jerked his head towards his upstairs suite. Once upstairs, Richard was pleased to find Aspasia already there, standing in plainclothes while scrubbing what appeared to be blood out of her robe.

“Good. Serah Hawke, I needed to speak to you as well. Do you know where your brother is?”

A muffled masculine moan of pleasure from the adjacent room punctuated the Seeker’s question. Hawke and Varric smirked.

“I…see. Well, I’m sure you can pass this along, Serah. You see…there was a recent incident over at the Chantry. A Tranquil named Karl Thekla was murdered, along with a dozen Templars. Eyewitnesses place an apostate named Anders, along with a dwarf, a man with dark hair, and a woman with blonde at the scene. Seeing as there aren’t many dwarves who hang around with mages…I think you know why I’ve come.”

Aspasia grimaced. “Look. I didn’t know it would…we were supposed to go in, get Karl out of there, and go. But it was a Templar trap. And Anders killed Karl to save him from a lifetime of being Tranquil. It was a final act of mercy for his beloved friend.”

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose before grabbing the apostate by the arm and pulling her in close. He could see the fear in her eyes but still, the brand on his chest did not burn. Once more, Aspasia Hawke was telling the truth. “Aspasia…you cannot be seen with that apostate again. I will protect you for as long as you assist with our…other matter, but you have to make my job a bit easier,” he hissed.

Aspasia pulled free of the Seeker’s grasp, returning to the wash basin. “I need his help for our upcoming expedition to the Deep Roads. His skills as a Grey Warden are vital for its success.”

Richard closed the distance and whispered in her ear. “I don’t care what you _do_ with him, Aspasia. It’s not my place to dictate that. Just don’t be _seen_ with him, okay?”

Aspasia swallowed hard. “I’ll do my best. And thank you, Richard, for—“

“No offense, and I’m sure you’re a lovely girl, but the only reason I’m looking the other way here is for the sake of my charge. Once our business is concluded, all bets are off, and you definitely do not want to be associated with Anders. Do I make myself clear?” Richard turned his stern gaze towards Varric. “Same goes for you, dwarf.”

Aspasia and Varric exchanged worried looks before nodding towards the Seeker.

“By the way, we took down the second of the Flint groups today. Just thought you’d like to know,” Aspasia offered.

Richard smiled before walking out of Varric’s suite.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Hawke,” Varric asked coolly, threading his fingers behind his head.

“It’s on a need-to-know basis, and right now…you don’t,” Aspasia shot back as she took a nervous swig of ale.

“Ooh…I get the feeling there’s a helluva story brewing here,” Varric teased as Aspasia rolled her eyes.

 

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Starkhaven, third day of Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon…_ **

The last slivers of sunlight dipped below the horizon as tiny flurries drifted down from the heavens. It wasn’t typical for Starkhaven to get snow in Harvestmere, but it had been a cool year as a whole. Lord Stuart stuffed his hands under his arms, cursing himself for not grabbing his woolen cloak before he’d gone for his weekly meeting with Johane Harimann. He stepped up his pace, wanting to get to his warm mansion as quickly as possible. He hesitated before approaching the front gate to his estate. He was fairly certain he hadn’t been followed home from the Palace, but he’d learned long ago that when dealing with that witch Johane Harimann, nothing could be assumed. As such, he’d taken the long way home, stopping at several merchants along the way.

He pressed himself against the stone wall and peeked through the iron-barred gate. Shadowy figures stood outside the front door. Even though it was getting dark quickly, he still recognized one man’s intimidating physique. _Shit. Captain Ramsay._

He doubled back, sneaking around the wall’s perimeter, looking for the two stepping stones he’d put out there to boost himself up so he could climb over the wall. This wasn’t his first time sneaking into his own estate. Usually, he just wanted to get inside the house after a night of drinking without being hassled by his guardsmen. Today, it could be a matter of life or death. He found the stepping stones and climbed onto them, hoisting himself up to the top of the wall as he’d done so many times before. When he attempted to swing his second leg over, however, the toe of his boot caught and he fell helplessly to the ground with a loud, involuntary _OOF_.

Before he’d even gotten the chance to catch his breath, the point of a sword kissed the hollow of his throat.

Captain Ramsay stood over him with a sadistic grin on his chiseled face. “Lord Stuart, I’m disappointed you didn’t want to come and say hello directly. And here I thought we were friends. Do you think I’m so far beneath you now that you no longer have to observe any sort of social protocol?”

“No, Captain,” Stuart wheezed. “I merely wanted to wash up before I welcomed company. It’s been a long day.”

“I bet it has, skulking all over the city, plotting and scheming,” Captain Ramsay said as he crouched beside his mark, pretending to pout.

Lord Stuart feigned shock. “What are you talking about? I’ve been at the Palace with Johane—“

“And the brothel a few days ago, with one Shane MacGregor. I have witnesses who swore on the Chant that they saw you two at the brothel, cozied up in the corner, speaking of treasonous acts.”

“WHAT? I don’t patronize the brothel. I’m a Lord, for Maker’s sake!”

“Don’t lie, Lord Stuart, it’s not a good look for you. What were you talking about? I need specifics.”

“I’m telling you, I wasn’t at the—“

Captain Ramsay stood and grabbed the front of Lord Stuart’s jerkin, yanking him to his feet and slamming him against the stone wall. “DON’T. LIE. It only makes the situation worse for you. Now, you know the Lady Johane is a kind, benevolent woman, and I’m sure she can persuade the Prince to stay his hand if you only confess to your treason.”

Stuart squirmed to get out of Ramsay’s grip, failing miserably. “I will never agree to such lies! Ramsay, you _know_ things. Secrets. As do I. I was there—“

Lord Stuart was silenced with a swift backhand to the mouth. He tasted coppery blood.

“If I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut,” Ramsay growled.

Stuart made a face. “Fine. I’m not saying another word until I see my lawyer.”

Ramsay let out a hearty guffaw. “Oh, you think you’re entitled to a lawyer, now?”

Stuart looked the Captain straight in the eyes. “I’m a tax-paying citizen, Ramsay. I know my rights, and I’m entitled to a lawyer as well as a fair trial.”

Captain Ramsay snorted as he released Stuart and directed his men to slap manacles on the noble. “We shall see. The laws are not kind when it comes to treason and regicide.”

Long after dusk had given way to night, Johane Harimann picked at her supper as she read through the latest petitions to grace Prince Goran Vael’s desk. A knock on the door startled her. _Messere Smythwick’s stolen sheep conundrum will simply have to wait._

“Come,” the aging blood mage barked as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

Moments later, a young page was scurrying towards her desk at the rear of the study. He paused, dirty blonde hair flopping into his face as he bowed before the defacto ruler of Starkhaven. Not daring to look up, the adolescent panted heavily.

Johane snatched it from his hand and replaced the note with a pair of shiny coppers which were newly struck, bearing the likeness of Goran Vael. She had a smug sense of satisfaction as the boy looked at the image on the coins. _That’s right, boy. He’s your Prince now. And I am his right hand._

“You are dismissed,” Johane said curtly. The boy left as quickly as he’d arrived. Once the door to the study closed once more, Lady Harimann ran a finger under the seal, her long, yellowed index fingernail breaking the bond of wax and paper. She unfolded the note quickly, eager to read the words within.

 

_Lady Harimann:_

_We have investigated Lord Stuart and it is as you had feared. He presently in our custody and is available for interrogation at your leisure. His associate, Shane MacGregor, appears to have fled from Starkhaven. I’m pressing my contacts in the Free Marches for any information on his whereabouts. Rest assured, we will find him and bring him to justice as well._

_\--Captain Ramsay_

Johane smirked as she re-folded the note and tossed it into the fireplace. She watched it curl up and blacken, disintegrating into the red-hot coals, before grabbing her cloak and leaving for the Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* Hi! Starting to chase plot bunnies again as my excitement for Dragon Age Inquisition builds. As you may notice, I've set this story to be 30 chapters. That may change if I feel like the plot is advancing too slowly, but it's my general goal for each book of this series. Again, I'm going sans-beta here so all errors are mine. Thank you so much for all your kind and encouraging words. It's so lovely to know there are people out there who actually read (and like) my work. I look to your words often when the night is at its darkest. <3


	6. The Fall of the House of Stuart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johane Harimann tightens her grip on Prince Goran.

**_Starkhaven, 5 th of Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon…_ **

Captain Corwin Ramsay looked at the dilapidated farmstead with disdain. The main house had suffered a devastating fire several years ago, and the burned-out shell had partially collapsed some time afterward. The outbuildings were in various states of disrepair, with only a lone, weathered barn having an intact roof. Ramsay narrowed his eyes as he locked his glare onto the barn. The grass leading towards it had been tamped down to make a path.

Ramsay turned towards his men, speaking in a hushed tone. “Information was good, lads. Looks like this is our place. Let’s circle the farmstead…stay quiet, and do not get too close to the barn. If he’s in there, we don’t want to tip him off, and if he’s not, we want to be in position to close in when he returns. Orders are to take him alive, got it? I’ll lead the way. Watch for my signal.”

The fellow riders nodded.

Ramsay gave a half-smile and pulled on his horse’s reins to turn her around. He gently nudged the mare’s ribs with his heel, spurring the horse into a gentle walk. The others followed suit, content to slowly take their positions. As the men tried to obscure themselves, Ramsay approached the barn. Now that he was closer, he saw clear signs that someone had been using the barn for a makeshift residence. A firepit with a rickety spit mounted over it was partially hidden by what once was the corner of a small stone building, and a water trough for livestock was now a wash basin, as evidenced by the pair of air-dried trousers draped over the low-hanging branch of a nearby dead tree.

Ramsay couldn’t help but smirk. _Literally catching him with his pants down, it seems._ He dismounted, tying his horse to a post and advancing towards the barn on foot. As he drew closer, he could hear a man whistling. _Gotcha, you slippery bastard._ When he knocked on the door, there was no reply—only panicked shuffling and muffled curses.

“Shane MacGregor! You are surrounded! Come out and no harm will come to you,” Ramsay boomed. He whistled, signaling his men to close in on the barn.

The sound of horses rustling through the tall grass flooded the barn. Shane MacGregor could not tell if he truly was surrounded, or if it was just a ploy to flush him out of hiding. He was tempted to sneak out of the back door, but he’d seen Captain Ramsay in action—the man would set the barn ablaze if he thought it would flush out his quarry. Shane looked down and shook his head. _What a day to wash my only pair of trousers._

The door to the barn opened slowly, with the flame-haired man peering awkwardly around the door. “I’m glad to come out, Captain, but I…”

“Have no pants?” Ramsay chuckled. “You haven’t got anything we haven’t seen.” He motioned towards one of his men to grab MacGregor’s pants. The guardsman dutifully brought the pants, tossing them at Ramsay. Shane MacGregor reluctantly exited his hiding place, tugging down on his shirt with one hand and snatching the trousers with his other. He hunched over as he pulled on the pants, nearly falling into a small puddle where he had urinated earlier in the day.

Ramsay smirked triumphantly. “Shane MacGregor, you are under—“

“I know why you’re here. Let’s just get this shit over with,” MacGregor spat, holding his hands out for the Captain to shackle.

**_oOoOoOo_ **

Johane stood by the window of her study, clutching a letter in her bony hands and scanning it furiously as Brett Harimann and a well-dressed man sat in front of her gilded desk. She read the message again before stomping over to the fireplace and disposing of it. She let out an angry snort as she walked back towards her desk. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shook her head. “I swear to the Maker, you simply cannot find good help these days! The fact is, gentlemen, we have no confirmation as to the current whereabouts of Sebastian Vael. We will need to use this upcoming tribunal to smear the Vael name as much as possible. Constantine, do you think you’ll be able to—“ Johane was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. “Damn it, _COME_!”

As Captain Ramsay entered with a disheveled redhead, the well-dressed man whispered, “But of course, my Lady.” Johane stopped scowling at the prisoner long enough to give her guest a curt nod of thanks.

“My Lady, Seneschal…and, er, Messere…I bring you one Shane MacGregor,” Ramsay said, bowing.

“Splendid,” Johane Harimann said. “Messere Le Duc, this is the Captain of my Royal Guard, Corwin Ramsay. He’s been a priceless asset in gathering evidence for our upcoming tribunal. Ramsay, this is Constantine Le Duc. He’s a lawyer from Nevarra, and will be representing the Palace when we try Angus Stuart next week.”

The well-dressed man flashed Johane a charming smile before rising from his chair in a fluid motion, gracefully bowing towards Ramsay. His jet-black hair glistened in the firelight, and his dark eyes were surprisingly warm, crinkling slightly at the corners as he gave another pearly grin.

“Captain Ramsay, what an immense pleasure to meet you,” Constantine oozed, his thick Nevarran accent nearly intoxicating. “Tales of your talents have reached far beyond fair Starkhaven’s borders. I’m looking forward to working with you as we bring Angus Stuart to justice. Come, we have much to discuss.”

Ramsay, surprised that Johane had gone to the trouble of hiring a lawyer, nodded numbly and led MacGregor forward. He sat his prisoner in a chair, never removing the shackles, before taking his usual position by the fire. Though he knew he needed to be aware of everything that was happening, he still didn’t feel comfortable being so involved in political affairs. Standing a few feet away let him listen to the conversation without being pulled in—usually.

“Now, MacGregor, you were recently raised to a Barony, were you not,” Constantine started.

Shane nodded, pressing his lips together into a thin line. He knew he shouldn’t even nod, but he was too scared of what might happen if he didn’t cooperate at all.

Constantine stood behind Shane, murmuring into his ear. “As a Baron, you swore oaths to uphold and protect the crown. Why would you involve yourself in a plot to overthrow the Prince? Surely a man of your intellect realizes what a foolish endeavor that was?”

Shane said nothing, looking down at his lap.

Constantine stood upright, walking in front of the prisoner and leaning against the desk. “I can see you are a wise, careful man, Baron MacGregor. Far more so than your colleague, Angus Stuart. That is why I wanted to have a little chat. I have a proposition for you.”

The twinge of hope in Shane’s eyes made the seasoned lawyer grin. “I knew I could appeal to your good senses, Shane. I can call you Shane, right?”

Shane hesitated briefly before nodding.

Constantine clapped his hands in delight. “Excellent! Shane, I shall get to my point. You tell me all you know about Angus Stuart and testify to the same during the tribunal. In exchange, you will be a free man.” The Nevarran gestured widely.

“I’ll do one better,” Johane said sweetly. “If you cooperate and Stuart is convicted, I will make you a Lord.”

Shane couldn’t resist. “Freedom? A Lordship? All for telling you what I know about Angus Stuart?”

Johane, Brett, and Constantine all nodded. Ramsay looked on, stunned that his prisoner was being treated so generously. _Yesterday, the Lady wanted MacGregor’s head on a spike._

Shane swallowed hard. “We have ourselves a deal. Can these shackles come off now?”

Johane smiled as Ramsay unlocked the cuffs. _No canary sings like a man in dire straits can._

****

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Starkhaven, 10 th of Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon…_ **

On this crisp autumn morning, Starkhaven’s Throne Room scarcely resembled the stately chamber which had hosted weddings, coronations, and other royal functions for centuries. Today, the room had been hastily converted in preparation for the tribunal of Angus Stuart—no flowers, no chamber music, no incense, and most of the jewel-toned stained glass panels had been covered by thick draperies to keep the cold out. The throne had been moved from the center of the dais to the side, just outside the Prince’s chamber door. In the center was a long table with three chairs, one for each member of the tribunal. Lit from behind by the blazing hearth, the table looked as though it was sitting in front of the mouth to hell itself. A lone chair for the witnesses was front and center, facing the tribunal table on the dais above, and two tables for the respective parties were placed on either side of the carpeted aisle. Behind the tables, citizens filled the benches, some curious, some concerned, some seeking refuge from the unusually cool weather.

Nobody in Starkhaven had ever seen a public tribunal, as the articles of the Principality did not contain provisions for a judicial system. The Prince had always acted as judge, jury, and, if the crime required, executioner. Under the Vaels, this had been a relatively fair and efficient system, but since the coup, the people had grown distrustful of the crown. Johane had pitched this public tribunal to Goran as a way of creating the appearance of transparency in order to quell the growing dissent within Starkhaven’s lower class.

Captain Ramsay strode into the Throne Room, pushing Angus Stuart in front of him. Everyone turned and stared as the fallen Lord shuffled down the aisle, the chains around his ankles rhythmically slinking along the floor. Instead of his usual finery, Stuart wore simple, undyed linen clothes. The few hairs on his head had grown long and stringy, floating as he walked. He’d also grown a scruffy beard while in captivity, the white hairs contrasting with his ruddy complexion. _How far I’ve fallen,_ he mused as he looked at his lawyer, Matthias Henry, a young man assigned by the Palace to defend him. Stuart scoffed at the placement of his seat—it was bathed in crimson light streaming from one of the few stained glass panels that had been left uncovered. The panel commemorated the First Prince’s bloody victory over King Ironfist, a coincidence even Angus Stuart could not ignore. _Too bad I won’t get the chance to put Lady Johane Ironfist to the sword._

The young lawyer coughed nervously and tugged at his sleeves, which were too short. He drummed his fingers on the polished wood table. After a few moments, Stuart could no longer ignore the annoyance.

“Och! Is that all you learned in your studies, Henry—to annoy people,” Stuart hissed as he grabbed the lawyer’s hand.

“No,” the sandy blonde replied nervously as he jerked his hand out of his client’s grip. “I just…have a lot of pent-up energy this morning. I’ll be better once we get under way. You’ll see.” He closed his eyes briefly as he took a cleansing breath. _Just remember who you’re working for._

The door to the side chamber opened and the handpicked tribunal walked out. Angus recognized the first man as Brett Harimann, Starkhaven’s new Seneschal. The second man was a merchant named Will Baxter, made Baron for his ability to appeal to and calm the frustrated lower class. The third was a newly-minted Lord, Reese Dunlevy. He was young and ambitious, a clever man Angus had tried to recruit to his side some time ago. The tribunal judges solemnly took their seats in the center of the dais, none daring to look at Angus Stuart. Next to emerge from the side chamber were Johane Harimann and Constantine Le Duc. They walked to their table, across the aisle from Stuart and his lawyer. A page walked out next, pausing just outside the door.

“All rise for His Royal Highness, Prince Goran Vael!”

Everyone stood as Goran shuffled his way from the side chamber to his throne. Since his last public appearance, the young man had gotten regalia fitted to his diminutive frame, so he looked far more graceful than his disastrous court appearance. The temporary throne position placed Goran directly in front of Johane, just as she desired. As soon as he sat, the rest of the people followed suit.

Brett Harimann remained standing. “Good morn, fair Starkhaven. I am Brett Harimann, the chief of this tribunal. To my left is Lord Will Baxter, and to my right is Lord Reese Dunlevy. We are gathered today to hear the case of treason brought against Angus Stuart. How do you plead, Messere Stuart?”

Angus started to speak, but his lawyer silenced him. Matthias Henry stood shakily, clearing his throat. “My client pleads not guilty, my Lords.”

Brett smirked before continuing to read from the scroll. “Very well. Angus Stuart, in this tribunal, you shall be judged by this panel after we have heard all testimony. If we find you guilty, Prince Goran will determine your sentence. Is that clear?”

“Aye,” Henry replied for him, before sitting.

Brett nodded and addressed his fellow judges. “My Lords, we have been selected for a grave task. We are about to hear testimony from many people and must decide who is telling the truth. The Prince has asked us to render a verdict that is fair and keeping with Starkhaven’s best interests. If you feel you cannot do so, speak up now.”

The other men remained silent, casting furtive glances at each other to ensure their compliance.

“Excellent. The representative for the Crown may call his first witness.”

Constantine Le Duc stood and straightened his jerkin, turning slightly towards the gathered crowd. “The Crown calls upon Lord Brennen MacSwain.”

Some members of the crowd gasped. The name MacSwain had become affiliated with corruption and murder during Aidan Vael’s reign, leading to Brennen’s exile. That he was now back—and called Lord—seemed impossible.

Brennen MacSwain entered from the side chamber, calmly striding towards the witness chair. He sat and folded his tanned hands in his lap, an arrogant smirk on his face.

Constantine walked towards the dais and posed in front of Brennen MacSwain, appearing to ponder his first question as he looked at the stained glass rendition of King Ironfist’s defeat. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Lord MacSwain, do you personally know Angus Stuart?”

“Aye,” MacSwain barked.

“And how, precisely, do you know Messere Stuart?”

“We conspired against Aidan Vael,” MacSwain replied coolly. There was a collective gasp, followed by murmurs tearing through the crowd.

Matthias Henry leapt to his feet. “My Lords, why is Lord MacSwain not charged with the same crime as my client? How is he allowed to testify, while my client faces a possible death sentence?”

Constantine immediately countered. “My Lords, my witness will explain himself, if you’ll allow.”

Brett looked at his fellow judges. All three nodded. “We’ll allow. Lord MacSwain, please proceed.”

Matthias slumped against his chair as MacSwain spoke, catching Johane glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. Constantine bowed slightly towards the tribunal before resuming his questioning. “So, you’re saying you were involved in the coup?”

MacSwain shook his head vehemently. “Not the murders, no. That was never my—look; all I wanted was for Prince Aidan to abdicate. I was involved in efforts to prove his reign’s corruption. His sons were particularly nasty. Besides, I had been caught and exiled by the time the coup took place…I couldn’t have been involved.” He was lying, of course, but only Johane Harimann and Angus Stuart knew that he’d snuck back into Starkhaven weeks before the coup, just in time to stop Ewan MacNair from ruining the entire plot. Neither would dare expose themselves to call Brennen out on his lies.

Constantine pressed MacSwain per Johane’s orders. “His sons? What did they do?”

The blond man rolled his eyes. “Where to begin…Corbinian was a known womanizer. Gavin was…er, he preferred the company of men. And Sebastian...well, I think we all recall that he murdered a young maid he’d gotten pregnant.”

Le Duc clucked his tongue as the crowd buzzed again. “A crime for which _your son_ was framed, was he not?”

Brennen continued, clenching his fists. “He was, and Sebastian Vael hunted him down and killed him in cold blood, just to keep the truth hidden.”

“Such a shame that the youngest Vael never had to face judgment like this—oh wait, he never would have. His father disallowed fair public tribunals such as these,” Constantine said, gesturing around the room as he played to the crowd. “Alas…despite their numerous misdeeds, the Vaels are not on tribunal. What else can you tell me about your involvement with Angus Stuart?”

MacSwain leaned back in his chair. “Well, I was in Kirkwall—on exile, if you recall—when I received a letter from Messere Stuart.”

“Oh? And what did that letter say?”

“I have it with me, if you’d like to read it,” MacSwain offered, reaching into his jacket.

“That would be very helpful,” Constantine said as he addressed the tribunal judges. “My Lords, will you allow this evidence?”

“Only if the accused acknowledges its authenticity,” Brett said. Constantine plucked the letter from Lord MacSwain’s grip and presented it to Stuart and his lawyer.

“I recognize that seal as yours,” Matthias whispered.

Angus said nothing as his lawyer inspected the letter more closely. Matthias shook his head as he recognized the signature. “It’s authentic,” he admitted, just loud enough for the judges to hear.

Angus leaned in towards his lawyer as soon as Constantine took the letter and walked away. “MacSwain’s lying…but I cannot speak more of it.”

Henry looked at his client, brown eyes widened in surprise. “Why not?”

“I’d only hurt myself. It...would confirm my involvement in other matters.”

The young lawyer failed to hide his surprise as he drew the only logical conclusion—that his client had, in fact, been involved in the Vael murders. “Wow. I…uh…so…you don’t _want_ me to object to his testimony?”

“No…and don’t question him, either. Let’s hope another witness will contradict him,” Stuart muttered, feeling defeated.

Constantine circled the witness chair slowly and started to read the letter aloud. “Brennen…I apologize for the appalling length of time since my last. I know the exile has been difficult for you, so I am glad to say it’s time for you to come home. I have big plans for Starkhaven, my friend, and I need your help…Angus.” He walked up to the dais and handed the letter to the judges.

Brennen started to speak again, careful to never let his gaze fall anywhere near Angus Stuart. “I returned to Starkhaven after receiving this letter. That’s when he tried to pull me into his plan to overthrow Prince Goran.”

Constantine spun around, rushing back to Brennen’s chair, his eyes glittering in anticipation of what might be said next. “And what, exactly, was his plan?”

Brennen shook his head and played innocent. “I have no idea, other than he wanted Prince Goran gone. I refused to meet with him or hear any further treasonous words. I’ve been exiled for such foolishness before, and I certainly didn’t want to be in that position ever again.”

Constantine flashed a warm smile at his witness. “Completely understandable, Lord MacSwain. So, what did you do next?”

Brennen turned and looked at Johane. “I immediately went to the Lady Johane Harimann. I knew she was close to the Prince and could keep him safe.” Johane acknowledged this praise with a slow, exaggerated nod.

“Thank you, my Lord. No further questions.” Constantine smiled at the tribunal judges before taking his seat.

Brett nearly returned the smile, but caught himself and cleared his throat. “Do you have any questions for the witness, Messere Henry?”

Matthias stood, slumping. He looked down at his journal, in which he had prepared no less than a dozen questions for MacSwain, and then to his client, who glared at him. “I…I do not.”

Brett furrowed his brows at the palpable tension between the young lawyer and his client. “You may go, Lord MacSwain, but please stay in the side chamber in case we need to speak with you further.”

“Aye. Thank you, my Lords,” Brennen said as he sprang out of the chair.

Constantine gave Johane a confident smirk. “The Crown calls Rheann Tully.”

As Brennen MacSwain entered the side chamber, a petite, hooded female pushed past him. The woman walked towards the witness chair, a black veil obscuring most of her face. She sat demurely but did not remove her hood or veil.

“Serah Tully, could you remove your veil,” Brett asked.

Rheann spoke carefully in an obvious attempt to disguise her voice. “I apologize, my Lords, but I dare not. My life would be in grave danger, were my identity known.”

Reese Dunlevy stared at the woman, trying to discern her features through the semi-sheer veil. “Shall we assume, then, that Rheann Tully is not your given name?”

“That is correct,” she replied with a polite nod.

Reese ignored the intimidating scowl on Brett Harimann’s face, choosing to press the woman further. “Why would your life be _in danger_ , as you put it, were you to show your face?”

Rheann hesitated. “It is because I am a spy.”

By now, Brett was not the only Harimann glaring daggers at Reese Dunlevy. Reese didn’t care. “A spy for whom?”

“Whoever has the gold to pay my fee,” Rheann replied.

Brett threw up his hands in exasperation. “Can we please get on with it, Lord Dunlevy? These are questions for the lawyers to ask, not the tribunal.”

Reese pouted for a brief moment. “Of course. Your witness, Messere Le Duc.”

Constantine smiled politely towards the Lords and approached Rheann, deliberately attempting to charm her. “Serah Tully, you say you are a spy. Were you working in the employ of the Crown of Starkhaven on the last day of Kingsway?”

The spy locked her kohl-rimmed blue eyes onto Constantine’s. “I was.”

Constantine blinked slowly, meeting her gaze. “Were you ordered to spy on anyone in particular?”

“That man,” Rheann said as she turned and pointed at Angus Stuart, who fumed in his seat.

“What were you instructed to find out?”

Rheann kept staring coldly at Stuart. “Anything having to do with a potential plot against Prince Goran, Johane Harimann, or Brett Harimann.” Stuart tried to twist away from the woman’s accusatory glare.

Constantine paced back and forth in front of his table, rubbing his smooth chin thoughtfully. “Were you successful?”

Rheann turned towards Constantine. “I was. I discovered a plot against the Prince and reported it to the Seneschal. He paid my fee and I left the principality. I’m only here now at the Crown’s request.”

“Do you remember anything else that Angus Stuart said?”

Rheann bowed her head slightly. “Yes. I remember him saying that the Prince is an idiot and unfit to rule. My apologies, Your Highness, I mean no offense. Messere Stuart then suggested that he would make the best ruler once the Prince was out of the picture. His associate laughed.”

Goran, who had been paying little attention to the proceedings, suddenly straightened up and folded his arms across his chest, scowling at the floor but saying nothing.

Constantine turned slightly towards the shuffling of Goran’s robes, pleased that the Prince now seemed invested in the tribunal. He peaked his eyebrows quickly before resuming his line of questioning. “Who was his associate?”

“I was not paid to find out, but I knew from prior…jobs that it was Shane MacGregor,” Rheann replied with a shrug.

The crowd began to whisper yet again, while Angus Stuart buried his face in his hands. Constantine cleared his throat loudly to quell the growing cacophony. “Thank you, Serah Tully. No further questions.”

“Messere Henry? Your witness,” Brett Harimann announced.

Matthias Henry and Angus Stuart were whispering furiously at each other when Brett’s voice interrupted them. Lawyer and client glared at each other. Finally, Henry stood, never breaking eye contact with Stuart. “We have no—“

Stuart shot out of his seat, also keeping eye contact with Henry. “We DO have questions, my Lords. Serah Tully, when you were working for Starkhaven on the last day of Kingsway, were you doing so in the brothel?”

Rheann fidgeted in her seat. Brett rapped his knuckles against the table. “Serah Tully, answer the question,” he commanded.

Rheann shook her head and scoffed. “Fine…yes.”

_I knew it! MacGregor set me up by insisting we meet at the brothel!_ Stuart started to pound his fist on the table but stopped himself, gently resting his balled hand on the polished surface. “Did you pose as a prostitute?”

“Yes,” the spy admitted.

Stuart started to walk towards the witness, but Captain Ramsay grabbed his shoulder, holding him back. “And while posing as a prostitute, did you have sex with any of the brothel patrons?”

Rheann shot a look over her shoulder at Stuart. “To keep up the ruse, yes.”

Stuart’s anger began to get the better of him. “So you admit that you were prostituting yourself,” he asked in a raised voice.

Rheann turned back towards the tribunal judges. “…Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything. It was part of my false identity.”

Stuart wrenched his shoulder out of Ramsay’s grip and dramatically slammed his palms on the table. “My Lords, this witness just admitted she is a WHORE! Whores are disgusting, traitorous sinners—they’ll bed anything, _say_ anything for coin! Isn’t it obvious that we cannot trust a whore’s testimony? Who knows how much she’s been paid to tell _these_ slanderous falsehoods?”

Brett, Will, and Reese huddled together, arguing amongst themselves. Finally, Brett poked his head up. “We will need to take a short break to discuss this matter. Everybody, please stay put.” With that, the three Lords excused themselves and retreated to the side chamber. Muffled shouts could be heard as soon as the heavy oak door slammed shut.

“I need to use the privy,” Matthias Henry mumbled as he wandered off, disappearing through the double doors at the back of the room. Captain Ramsay peaked an eyebrow, but otherwise stood watch over Stuart.

Minutes later, the wiry lawyer exited the privy chamber, adjusting his jerkin.

“PSST! Over here,” a bodiless voice whispered.

Henry followed the sound, which had come from behind a dressing screen in the corner of the room. He was surprised to find an open door behind it, and stepped through with little hesitation. As soon as he entered the smaller chamber, he saw Johane Harimann standing on the far side. The door closed behind him and a hulking bodyguard swooped in front of it, trapping the young man inside.

“Good. I was hoping to speak to you,” Johane whispered, beckoning Matthias closer.

Matthias swallowed hard as he approached. “T-to what do I owe the privilege, my Lady?”

A sharp slap across the face was Johane’s reply. “Just what do you think you’re doing? I’m not paying you to let Angus Stuart play lawyer! You need to rein him in, just like I told you. If he walks, our deal is off.”

Matthias soothed his stinging cheek. “B-but, my Lady… _please_! I have a wife and a baby on the way!”

Johane grabbed Matthias’ ear. “Perhaps you should have thought of them before you ran up a thousand-sovereign gambling debt, Messere Henry. The Harimann family does not run a charity. We _will_ be repaid that debt, even if we have to sell the bones of your ancestors to do it. Now, get back out there and remember who you are representing. Is that clear?” She shoved him away.

Matthias nodded.

Johane folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t hear you.”

“ _YES_ , my Lady. Thank you, my Lady.” Matthias spun on the balls of his feet and walked briskly towards the Throne Room, hoping his cheek wasn’t too red.

Upon his entrance, Matthias was embarrassed to find the judges had already returned to their table and were waiting on him to continue. He trotted the remaining distance to his table and scooted in beside his client, whose face was crimson with anger.

“Nice of you to make it back, Henry,” Stuart growled. “If I were payin’ ye, you’d owe ME money!” He attempted to stand again, but Matthias pulled him back down.

“Messere Stuart, I’m the trained lawyer here. I’ll handle this.”

Brett Harimann watched the two men with a bemused expression. “We have decided that Serah Tully’s testimony will be allowed. She was in the employ of the Crown at the time and, as such, doing her job when she took clients at the brothel. Do you have any further questions, Messere Henry?”

Stuart’s fist pounded the table as Matthias stood. “None, my Lords.”

“Serah Tully, please return to the side chamber. Any further witnesses, Messere Le Duc?”

“One more, my Lords. The Crown calls Baron Shane MacGregor.”

Yet again, the crowd whispered animatedly as the flame-haired man emerged from the side chamber. He kept his head down as he walked briskly towards the witness chair, not wanting to catch the eyes of Angus Stuart.

Constantine started questioning Shane as soon as his arse hit the wood. “Baron MacGregor, you received your title fairly recently, did you not?”

“Aye,” Shane replied, still settling into the chair.

“Do you know why?”

Shane nodded. “Angus Stuart petitioned Prince Goran for my title.”

Constantine gripped the arms of the witness chair, leaning down to Shane’s eye level. “Whatever could have convinced Angus Stuart to do you such a service?”

Shane blushed and tried to look away. “I…uh…I mean…”

Constantine looked quizzically at Shane. _Clearly, he failed to divulge everything during our meeting. I need to save this situation, fast._ He stood, addressing the tribunal judges. “I should inform the tribunal that Baron MacGregor has agreed to testify in this matter in exchange for a pardon of _any_ criminal activity in which he has colluded with the accused. Isn’t that correct, Baron?”

MacGregor’s eyes lit up at this new twist. “Aye, Messere Le Duc. As I was saying, Angus Stuart convinced Prince Goran to give me a new title, after I helped his mercenary crew enter the palace on the night the Vaels were murdered.”

The entire room fell dead silent. Stuart felt all the blood rush from his head and he felt faint. He grabbed the edge of the table to keep steady as everything began to spin.

Constantine, who had bowed his head reverently at mention of the murders, resumed his questioning in a gentler voice. “Baron, why would you do such a thing?”

Shane swallowed hard, his lower lip quivering. Though he had been given amnesty, the flame-haired man wasn’t fully convinced he’d be able to get out of what he was about to admit without penalty.

Constantine noticed his hesitation and leaned in once more. “It’s alright, Shane. Get it all out.”

Shane nodded. “Stuart had convinced me that the Vaels would destroy Starkhaven—that six generations were too many for one family to rule. I was one of the lower-ranked guardsmen. I was struggling to put food on the table. At the time, the promise of a new ruler—one who would grant me a title and lands—well, with a baby on the way…I was only thinking of my family, but...” With such a huge burden finally off his chest, Shane MacGregor began to cry. Fat tears spilled down the fair man’s cheeks as he struggled to continue. “But…it was all for naught. I lost my baby and my wife on the same day. A bloody title couldn’t do anything to stop the childbed fever.”

Constantine placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Baron. But I must ask…why did you continue to collude with Angus Stuart?”

Stuart took deep, shuddering breaths as he wiped away his tears with the back of his hand. “He’d convinced me our Prince is unfit to rule. Said he’s an imbecile, and that someone else is using him as a puppet in order to seize Starkhaven.”

“Does Prince Goran look incapable of the crown to you?”

Goran, who now watched the proceedings intently, levelled a cold glare at Shane MacGregor and, for just a moment, almost looked regal.

Despite what he’d seen and felt in his heart, Shane MacGregor lowered and shook his head. “No, Messere Le Duc. Our Prince looks perfectly capable of ruling Starkhaven.”

Constantine pressed his advantage. “Can you recall what Angus Stuart said next?”

“I asked who would rule in Prince Goran’s place, since we don’t have many nobles who would be capable of ruling. Most are like me, you see. Men taken from the lower classes and raised up for various reasons,” Shane replied bitterly. “There’s no history to our houses, no legacy of leadership! No relationships with our allies! It’d be a fucking disaster—oops, beg pardon, Messere. I didn’t mean to curse.”

Constantine chuckled lightly and turned towards the audience. “I totally understand, Baron. You are passionate about preserving Starkhaven’s legacy and integrity, as are many of the people here, I suspect. So tell me, who did Angus Stuart suggest as the next ruler of Starkhaven?”

“Hisself, of course. Said he didn’t want to rule, but if he had to, he would. I realize now…that was a lie.”

Constantine cast a forlorn look at his witness. “I see. Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”

MacGregor thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “No, I’ve told you all I remember.”

“Thank you, Baron. No further questions,” Constantine said as he walked back to his seat confidently.

The tribunal judges watched Angus Stuart seethe in his chair with growing intensity. Finally, Brett Harimann broke the silence. “Messere Henry, your witness.”

Before Henry could respond, Stuart shot out of his chair and charged towards MacGregor. Captain Ramsay grabbed him before he could assault the witness. As he was dragged back to his chair, Stuart tried to wriggle free. “You’re a rat bastard, MacGregor! A rat fucking bastard! I made you, and this is how you repay my generosity?”

“You’d best shut your mouth before you say something you’ll regret, Stuart,” Ramsay hissed in his ear as he slammed Stuart back down into his chair and slapped shackles on the man’s wrists. “Keep it up, and I’ll take you to prison. You won’t even get a chance to defend yourself. Now, are you going to behave, or are we going to have a problem?”

“I’ll be damned if I’m not going to get my say, so I’ll play nice,” Stuart growled.

Matthias Henry stood over and stared at his client in abject horror for several moments before snapping back to reality. “The defense has no questions, my Lords,” he mumbled before sitting back down.

Constantine stood and bowed with a flourish. “The Crown rests, my Lords.”

Brett Harimann let out a huge breath and leaned back against his chair. “Very well. Shall we move on, or do we need a break?”

Matthias Henry didn’t bother to stand, staring at his folded hands resting on the tabletop. “The defense only has one witness, my Lords. We don’t need a break if the Crown doesn’t.”

Constantine cast a pitiful glance towards the young lawyer. “We are ready to move forward, my Lords.”

Brett rolled his eyes. “Excellent. Defense, your witness?”

Matthias stood wearily. “The defense calls Angus Stuart.”

Before Matthias could even finish his question, Angus stood and interrupted him, turning to face the audience and gesticulating wildly with his shackled hands. “You all must think I’m stupid. Anyone can see this so-called tribunal is a fucking FARCE! Let’s face it—I’m as good as dead, so I might as well confess all my bloody sins. Yes, I was involved in the coup. I saw Aidan Vael’s head come clean off his body, the same as his sons. Yes, I conspired to have Prince Goran overthrown. But I didn’t act alone! All the Lords and Barons who have died suddenly over the past few years? They were killed trying to liberate YOU from the tyranny of the Vael family. You heard Lord MacSwain—his _own son_ was killed to protect Sebastian Vael from the justice he deserved! We lost a lot of good, patriotic men, but worst of all?” Stuart turned and glared at the tribunal judges. “We’ve got Brett Harimann just a heartbeat away from seizing the crown. Imagine, a Kirkwaller on OUR throne! How far we have fallen, to be led by a foreigner? We might as well ask the Imperium to take us back! So judge me, O Mighty Tribunal! Judge me for what I am—a loyal citizen of Starkhaven who would rather DIE than let our principality lose its sovereignty. If that’s treason, then I’m the Queen of fucking Antiva!” Ramsay attempted to grab Stuart, but the fallen Lord had already sat down.

The three Lords huddled together briefly, whispering feverishly before nodding in agreement.

Brett Harimann addressed the room. “As the accused has confessed to his crimes, the tribunal can only deliver one verdict. Angus Stuart, stand.” When Stuart refused to stand, Captain Ramsay jerked the man to his feet. Brett continued. “We find you, Angus Stuart, guilty of treason. Prince Goran, are you prepared to hand down your sentence?”

Stuart glared at Prince Goran bitterly. _I’ll bet this fucking imbecile doesn’t even know what a sentence IS._

Goran, angered by all the harsh words that had been thrown his way during the tribunal, stood and balled his fists by his sides. He cleared his throat and spoke without a stutter for the first time in his life. “Angus Stuart, I sentence you to death by beheading. Maker have mercy on your soul.” With that, he turned sharply and left, slamming the side chamber door behind him, rendering everyone in the Throne Room speechless—none more so than Johane Harimann.

**_oOoOoOo_ **

Within an hour of the tribunal’s verdict, most members of Starkhaven’s nobility crowded inside the study to demand answers from Johane and Brett Harimann. The pair cowered behind the famed gilded desk Johane had ordered from Orlais, with Prince Goran reduced to sitting in a chair in the corner behind them, as the men grew increasingly restless.

Johane waved her hand to get the nobles’ attention. “Quiet…everybody, quiet. The Seneschal and I are more than happy to answer any questions you may have, but if we cannot hear them, we simply cannot answer them.”

Lord Reese Dunlevy, one of the tribunal judges, stepped forward. “Is there any truth to Stuart’s insinuation that you or Brett were somehow involved in the coup against the Vaels?”

Johane recoiled in mock indignation. “Of course not, that’s ridiculous. How could one foreign family gain so much power in a principality like Starkhaven?”

Another Baron chimed in. “What about the fact that you’re not _from_ Starkhaven?”

Annoyed, Johane slammed her hands on the desk, raising her voice. “I AM from Starkhaven. I am the eldest of the late Lord Byron Heatherton. I was sent to Kirkwall for tutelage when I was a girl. As some of you may recall, my dear brother, Willem, was wrongfully executed by Aidan Vael several years ago, leaving me the sole survivor of my line,” She explained, conveniently leaving out the part about being an illegitimate apostate, a great shameful secret the Heatherton clan took to their graves.

“Messeres, I think we’re ignoring the real problem here,” Baron Will Baxter boomed, as if on cue, before any of the other nobles could respond to Johane’s claim. “The real problem is that we have a legitimate Vael on the throne, but clearly he’s not fit to wear the crown. And let’s be honest, what MacGregor said during the tribunal was true…none of us are fit, either. We’re a collection of farmers and merchants. We don’t have the first clue on how to rule. What should we do about Prince Goran?”

As the nobles cried _here,_ here, Goran climbed onto his chair and yelled as loudly as he could. “I HAVE EARS!” Everyone fell silent and stared at the Prince, who was shaking with anger. He stood silently on his chair, taking deep breaths to calm himself before speaking again. He stared at his hand as he tapped his forefinger and thumb together rhythmically, just as his tutor had taught him so that he wouldn’t stutter so much. “I know you think I’m not fit,” he began, matching his speech to the tempo of his tapping and pausing frequently to choose his words. “Trust me; I don’t think I am fit either. But I am the only Vael. It is my duty to rule. The Lady Harimann has helped me. She got tutors so I can do things myself. I would like her to stay.”

“Your transformation has been most impressive, Your Highness,” Brennen MacSwain said as he led a round of applause for the Prince. “Messeres, we should honor the Prince’s request. Lady Harimann is of an old Starkhaven bloodline, and married into one of the most powerful noble houses of Kirkwall. I lived in Kirkwall for years. I saw firsthand how much influence and power the late Lord Harimann possessed. He was _thisclose_ to becoming Viscount. As for Brett, he served as an assistant to Seneschal Bran—there is no better public servant to apprentice under!”

A lone, anonymous voice cried from the back of the crowd. “But we can’t have a woman in such a high office! What if something were to happen to the Prince?”

Another anonymous voice piped up. “I heard Sebastian Vael is still alive. Why hasn’t he come back to claim the throne?”

The rest of the nobles started to argue among themselves. Johane looked over the crowd, attempting to see who asked the question about Sebastian Vael, but couldn’t pinpoint anyone. “Believe me, Messere, when I say we have people scouring Thedas for any sign that Sebastian Vael is still alive. Alas, we have heard nothing. It is not unreasonable to assume that the same people responsible for the coup would have had Sebastian killed as well…I mean, were he still alive, surely he would have come forward by now. We must assume he has either perished or has abdicated his duty as a royal. Therefore, Prince Goran is the only legitimate Vael in the line of succession. As for the rest of you…would it satisfy you if I were to agree to not accept any official titles, and simply support our Prince? I can ensure he marries well and produces an heir. I have ample wealth, thanks to my late husband’s business dealings, so I do not require a salary. I merely need a residence…unless Your Highness would rather keep me close, in the palace.”

“I would like that,” Prince Goran mumbled as he climbed off his chair.

The nobles talked among themselves, with most generally nodding in agreement after several tense moments. Reese Dunlevy canvassed the men. “So can we all agree…the Lady Harimann will remain as an advisor to Prince Goran, removed from the line of succession, with no titles and no pay? A show of hands, if you agree.”

All but two of the nobles raised their hands. Johane did her best to hide her triumphant smirk.

“Excellent, it is decided. Can we also agree Brett Harimann will remain as seneschal? As he was not born in Starkhaven, he cannot be in the line of succession, should Prince Goran die without a living heir.”

Every noble in the room raised his hand.

Reese let out a sigh of relief. “Then it is decided. Come, Messeres. We’ve had an eventful day. Let us leave our ruler and his staff to do their work, shall we?” The nobles agreed and all shuffled out of the study.

Prince Goran stood and walked around to the front of the desk. “I have _always_ had ears,” he growled, before leaving the Harimanns alone.

“That was too close, Mother,” Brett whispered as soon as the door closed. “We need to secure our place in Starkhaven’s succession, and fast.”

Johane smiled as she scooted up to the desk. “I’ve already come up with a plan, my son. Would you be a dear and go tell your sweet sister to put on the dress I bought for her? It’s in the white trunk. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

“Flora’s here?”

“She arrived late last night. I ordered her to stay in my bedchamber until the time was right,” Johane explained, opening a drawer and producing a bottle of wine.

Brett looked at the vial quizzically. “The time was right? For what?”

Johane uncorked the wine, putting the bottle to her lips and taking a few quick gulps. She dabbed at her mouth with her handkerchief. “To introduce her to her future husband, of course. I’m taking her to meet Goran tonight.”

Brett leaned in close, whispering in his mother’s ear. “You…you would still dare, even after today?”

“Oh, my dear boy…haven’t I always said, you love who you love? If our Prince falls for Flora, who would dare to tell him he can’t choose her?” Johane walked over to the liquor cabinet, grabbing a silver tray holding two pewter goblets and a decanter.

“This is a big risk, counting on… _him_ to make a decision that important,” Brett cautioned, watching as Johane poured the wine into the decanter.

Johane chuckled and smiled, revealing her yellowed teeth. “As a man, you should know you have _two_ heads you beasts think with. Flora only has to appeal to _one_ of Goran’s.”

Brett facepalmed. “That’s disgusting, Mother. Ugh. I’ll go tell Flora…just…never speak of such things ever again.”

After Brett left, Johane removed one of her ornate hairpins, the head of which was a cleverly designed key. She unlocked the other desk drawer, picking through the rack of glass vials until she found one containing a pale pink liquid. She pulled out the stopper and poured the potion into the decanted wine, stashing the vial back in the drawer and locking it again. _A little…inhibition…should ensure this meeting goes well. If it goes_ very _well, Flora could be with child by morning._ She tucked the hairpin back into her braided bun and swirled the decanter to mix the potion and wine. Satisfied, she picked up the tray and made her way to her bedchamber.

****

**_oOoOoOo_ **

****

**_The next morning…_ **

The palace green was a-stir with activity. Groundskeepers struggled to sweep leaves into lofty piles of browns, reds, and golds, as more kept falling to cover the fading grass. Carpenters had just put the finishing touches on a raised wooden platform near the steps leading to the prison tower. A large crowd gathered as a guardsman carried a wooden block up the stairs and placed it front and center on the platform, followed moments later by a foreboding hooded figure toting a greataxe on his shoulder. He positioned himself at the rear of the platform and proceeded to run a whetstone along the honed edges of the weapon, pausing occasionally to check its sharpness.

At last, the Chantry’s bell tower chimed twelve times, signaling the noon hour’s arrival. As the last peal of the bells hung ominously in the air, the door to the prison tower opened. Captain Ramsay and another guardsman guided the shackled Angus Stuart along the fifty-seven steps from the door to the executioner’s block. Behind them, Seneschal Brett Harimann followed solemnly.

As soon as Stuart caught sight of the bloodied wooden block, he started blubbering pitifully. Ramsay held him stiffly as the seneschal unfurled a scroll.

“Angus Stuart, you have been found guilty of treason. You are in forfeit of all titles and lands, and our Prince has sentenced you to death by beheading. Do you have any last words?”

“I hope Johane Harimann rots in the Black Void, that vile witch.”

“May the Maker have mercy on your soul,” Brett spat before leaving the platform.

Ramsay kicked the fallen Lord in the back of his legs, causing his knees to buckle. The captain then shoved the condemned man down onto the block, pushing his head forward. Stuart twisted his head to the side in defiance.

“Fine. If you want to watch the blade come down, that’s your choice,” Ramsay snarled.

“You know you’re just a pawn in her game. She’ll get rid of you, too if you make one false move. Nothing will stop her from seizing the crown,” Stuart hissed.

Ramsay backed away in disgust, motioning for the executioner to come forward as he stood to Stuart’s side. The man checked his axe edge one last time and walked towards the block. Carefully, he positioned himself and checked his trajectory. With each test swing, Stuart stiffened and gritted his teeth. Then, just before the fatal blow, Stuart opened his eyes, staring at Ramsay as the blade sliced through flesh and sinew and bone.

As he stared at Stuart’s body, still twitching from the severed nerves, Captain Ramsay couldn’t help but feel that Angus Stuart would be the first of many to die on this block under Prince Goran’s rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super-wordy chapter! I just couldn't see a way to break this up or cut much out. Our next chapter will take us back to good ol' Kirkwall. :)


	7. Echoes, Silence, Patience, Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke strikes down the Flint. Sebastian begins to find closure.
> 
> (Yarrrrrr, here be game dialogue—modified slightly because this is an AU, of course—and POV swaps of Chapters 18-20 of Hawke’s Journal, if you’re reading both. Note that with POV swaps may come some slight variations between the two works, going forward—people perceive things differently, after all.)

**_Kirkwall, 19 th of Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon…_**

The full moon, flanked by a pair of moon dogs, shone brightly. The light reflected off Kirkwall’s pale stone buildings and made it easy for Aspasia Hawke to navigate Lowtown’s alleyways. She stopped just short of the door to Sister Petrice’s hideout and let out a low growl.

“I hear her in there. That sanctimonious bitch messed with the wrong person,” Aspasia muttered as she put her hand on the doorknob, glove still covered in Qunari blood. Varric chuckled softly as he, Anders, and Fenris followed her inside.

Petrice scurried about the safehouse. “Leave nothing. It must be clean with no ties. It...” She paused at the sound of the door opening, spinning around with a fake smile. “Hawke. It _was_ Hawke, right? From the streets? You...took the Qunari from the city? Without incident?”

Anders hobbled forward, his ankle still smarting from the fight. “Without bloody incident? You know better.”

“Mind your tongue, mage,” Ser Varnell warned, grabbing for his sword menacingly.

Fenris, never one to back down from a challenge, reached for his greatsword.

Petrice, recognizing they were outnumbered, shot a look towards her Templar guard. He immediately backed down, and Fenris followed suit. She turned towards Hawke again. “Please. Do speak your mind.”

Aspasia’s voice quivered with rage as she chose her words carefully. “The bodies of the mage's Karataam led right to us. Why?”

Petrice’s calm demeanor vanished as she narrowed her eyes on the petite mage. “You come back speaking _their_ language and think to lecture _me_?” The Sister let out a loud huff, folding her arms as she obviously struggled to stifle her hatred. “ _If_ such a plot existed, _if_ the Qunari had murdered you for trying to help their slave mage, then yes, _someone_ might have found that useful. It would have cast doubt on appeasement. Perhaps your death would have been a tragic necessity. Perhaps finding the mage was a rushed opportunity. But all we have now are dead Qunari and the word of a sympathizer.” Her words were venomous, contrary to anything Hawke had ever learned from the Chant.

 _An innocent died because of your hate, you bitch!_ Aspasia recalled the Sarebaas’ last moments and bit at her lower lip to keep from crying. “Your "Ketojan" killed himself rather than be free. Just thought you should know your ruse had consequences.”

Petrice shrugged carelessly. “I assumed he wanted to escape, just as I would. My pity is genuine, but they are not like us.”

“Your pity? Please. If? Perhaps? Why dance around this lie? I'm standing right here,” Hawke demanded, feeling a surge of mana course through her veins. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Anders tense up as well.

Petrice dodged a direct confession. “If a member of the Chantry admitted instigation, I have no doubt it would result in more appeasement. But an accusation from a Lowtown thug...You are hardly that important. That's not an insult—it’s why I chose you. Rest assured, excuses, real or imagined, are not for your benefit.

 _I’m a THUG? Oh noooooo, no no._ “I won't forget this, Sister,” Hawke spat.

Petrice tossed a pouch at Hawke’s feet. “A bit of advice. Take your coin. Disappear back into Lowtown. Rest assured I will not make the mistake of looking for help outside the faithful again. The stakes--eternity--are just too high.” She glared at Ser Varnell and the pair stormed out of the safehouse.

Varric grabbed the pouch and counted the gold inside. “I don't think we've seen the last of her,” he muttered as he handed the coins to Hawke. She reluctantly took the gold from Varric’s outstretched hand and led the others out into the chilly night without a word.

“I’ll…catch up with you all later. I need to take care of something,” Aspasia muttered as she wrapped her cloak tightly and rushed towards Hightown.

“Wonder what that’s all about,” Anders asked. “She’s been acting strangely as of late.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it, Anders,” Varric replied, tugging his coat closed, “you know she only has eyes for you.”

“Shut up, dwarf,” Anders spat as he veered towards the safety of his Darktown clinic.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

Tiny snowflakes had started to fall just after she had left Petrice’s safehouse, and now that she was in Hightown, they drifted around the hem of Hawke’s robes as she waited at the side gate of the Chantry. After what seemed like an eternity in the bitterly cold twilight, Seeker Richard finally emerged from the ivy-covered gate.

“Serah Hawke. Samuel said a bloody woman was here to see me, but I’m surprised to find he meant it literally,” Richard whispered with a teasing grin.

Hawke flashed a polite, dimpled grin in return, acknowledging the joke before speaking with hushed urgency. “Sorry to disturb you so late at night, Seeker, but I was just involved in something that the Chantry might find…unsavory. It involves one of the Sisters.”

Richard folded his arms across his chest. “Let me guess…Petrice? Short blonde hair? Snotty attitude?”

“Yes, but how--?”

“Trust me, Hawke, when I say I’ve got a lot of fingers in a lot of pots here in Kirkwall.”

“I don’t doubt you one bit, Seeker." Hawke furrowed her brow. "Anyway, I believe Sister Petrice intends to start trouble with the Qunari in the city. She recruited me to escort a Qunari mage—a Sarebaas—out of the city. It was a setup. She’d arranged it so it appeared I killed the mage’s guardian. My partners and I were nearly killed by the Qunari warriors sent to find the mage. When I confronted her, she said finding the mage was a ‘rushed opportunity’ and that my death would have made appeasement impossible. She intends to find support for her deeds within the Chantry.”

Richard rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It is unfortunate that some of the faithful are unable to look past their prejudices. Let the Chantry handle Petrice. I need you to concentrate on our joint venture.”

Aspasia nodded, a bit disappointed that she wouldn’t be involved in the Sister’s downfall. “Very well… Speaking of our arrangement, we wiped out the third nest of Flint mercenaries yesterday. We found a locket that my associate claims bears the sigil of Starkhaven.” She dug into her belt pouch and produced the necklace.

Richard took the locked from Aspasia’s outstretched hand. He turned it over, recognized the necklace as Meghan Vael’s, and smiled sadly. “Aye. Your associate is correct. I can take that for Prince—“

Aspasia quickly plucked the locket out of Richard’s grasp. “I’d like to give it to him myself, if you don’t mind. I think Prince Vael deserves to know who fights on his behalf.” _I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing that tasty bit of eye candy again, either._

Richard considered the request—and its potential consequences—for several tense moments. “Fair enough,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “You are quite perceptive, Serah Hawke. He has been shielded from much of this. It’s high time he understands the full gravity of his situation, if he is to retake his throne.”

The strawberry blonde mage grinned, her teeth an amusing contrast to the blood and dirt streaking her face. “Excellent. I will stop by and speak with him tomorrow.” She held out her hand. “It’s been a pleasure, Seeker. If I can be of further assistance—“

Richard looked quizzically at Aspasia’s hand for a moment before taking it. “Call me Richard, I insist. And I believe you will…be of further assistance, that is. I am glad to say I was wrong about you. You’ve proven me wrong time and again. You are shaping up to be a formidable ally, worthy of trust. Your expedition leaves soon, does it not?”

“My expedition…how… Yes. In a fortnight.”

Richard chuckled. "Many pots, remember? I wish you well. The Deep Roads are a terrible, treacherous place. May the Maker guide you, Serah,” the Seeker said with a playful bow, before turning and disappearing behind the ivy-covered gate once more.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_The next morning…_ **

In the Chantry nave, Sebastian knelt in front of the large statue of Andraste and opened the brazier nestled at its brass feet. He placed a new chunk of resin on top of the smoldering embers and gently closed the door. He looked up at the statue’s face and closed his eyes, settling into prayer as tendrils of sweet smoke curled around him like the grace of Andraste herself.

_Maker, I pray to hear the echoes of those we have lost. I pray that you will grant me the ability to remain silent and truly hear what others have to say, and for the patience to handle whatever may come. Finally, I pray for grace, so that I may embody your teachings—_

“So, will anyone smite me if I tell you I killed the men who wronged your family?”

 _‘I killed your family’?_ Sebastian’s eyes flew open at the interruption, pupils contracting as they readjusted to the light. He scrambled to his feet, assuming a defensive stance. "Excuse me, who are—?” _She’s smiling? She’s not here to… Wait. She must have meant..._ As the woman’s words finally registered properly, Sebastian relaxed. “My post to the Chanters' Board? Did Her Grace let that stay? I thought for sure no one even read... But you say you've killed them?" Sebastian looked upward, raising his hands in praise as he grinned. "You have my eternal gratitude, serah! It is comforting to think my parents might now rest easily in their graves." He looked straight into the petite woman’s deep blue eyes, her gaze steadfast and friendly. _Maker, she is beautiful…and looks terribly familiar._ "Now, what is your name? I shall ask the Maker to watch over you during my evening prayers."

The woman was decked in deep purple velvet robes, which contrasted with her pale skin and ginger hair. A staff with a glowing blue crystal at the head was strapped to her back. She smiled and held out her hand for shaking. _How did this young woman become a mercenary? And how have the Templars not caught her yet?_ Instead of shaking her hand, Sebastian decided to gently brush her knuckles with a kiss, but pressed a bit too hard than what he'd been taught was appropriate. _Och, it’s been far too long since I’ve used my courtly skills._

"My name is Aspasia Hawke,” the woman said, clearly rattled by the Prince’s gesture, but she masked it graciously. “I'm glad I could help. I hope  _you_  sleep a bit easier as well.” She paused, pondering her words as she glanced at the floor. “I…I must admit, we’ve met before…at the Chanter’s Board? You bumped into me after arguing with the Grand Cleric? Anyway, you looked so upset and I wanted to help, so I asked Her Grace about you after I picked up your request on the Chanters' Board. Her Grace told me more about your position here at the Chantry, but she also said you're a prince?" Sebastian couldn’t help but stare at the woman as she spoke—she seemed friendly, yet shy, and her awkwardness was downright _adorable_. Aspasia blushed at the warmth of Sebastian’s gaze and smiled coquettishly. 

 _Maker's breath, is she flirting with me?_ Sebastian nearly forgot what she’d asked and coughed to cover his pause. "Yes. I am Sebastian Vael, prince of Starkhaven," he replied, the words slow and thick with brogue. 

Hawke’s eyebrows shot up. "Starkhaven? Isn't that where the Circle Tower just burned down? Please forgive me, I'm originally from Ferelden and just moved here a bit over a year ago. I'm not terribly familiar with all of the principalities that make up the Free Marches. I do, however, have one terrible gossip amongst my friends. He was talking about your Circle Tower and said it's along the Minanter, but that's all I know. I would’ve asked your guardian, but he’s not exactly the chatty type."

Sebastian looked surprised.  _She’s been in contact with Richard? Funny, he’s never mentioned her._ "Ferelden? So you’re a refugee of the Blight, then? I spent several years at the Chantry in Denerim. Lovely country. But yes, to answer your questions, Starkhaven is on the Minanter, up in the highlands. And indeed, we did lose our Circle Tower. I believe that was part of the strike against my family. With that terrible fire, we lost our mages, our Templars—everyone my parents used to call on for protection."

Aspasia pursed her lips, tilting her head. "Do you know who sent these mercenaries, or why your family was killed? I must say, hiring the Flint Company is not for the faint of heart…or light of purse."

Sebastian shrugged and shook his head. _Still haven't heard back from Ryon...he's usually more prompt than this. Must find out if Richard has heard anything._ "My family has ruled Starkhaven for six generations. We have enemies, but none who would identify themselves openly. A cousin of mine is claiming rulership now, but he is... a bit simple. He can be no more than a pawn in this plot."

"Surely you have a guess as to who was behind it…"

Sebastian threw up his hands, exasperated. "See, that's the puzzling thing. My parents were always...  _prudent_... in how they handled our nobles. They did not allow rivalries or resentments to flourish. The attack must have come from outside. Kirkwall is our largest trading partner. I am here to find support for my claim and perhaps for a clue as to who is behind this foul deed."

Aspasia lowered her voice. "Do you suspect anyone in Kirkwall?"

Sebastian matched her change in tone. "I cannot rule that out, but alas…I have no leads at this time. I am at an impasse."

Aspasia paused. She looked down, away, and dug into her belt pouch, producing the golden locket she found. "I…I found this on one of the mercenaries. My companion said that the crest is Starkhaven's?"

Until now, the murders had seemed surreal, but the weight of that tiny locket in his hand seemed to drag his entirety—body and soul—towards the ground as reality hit at long last. Tears welled in Sebastian's eyes as his fingers ghosted over the  _lion rampant_. "Aye…that…that is… _was_ …my grandmother’s locket," he said, unable to control the quiver in his voice. Gingerly, he opened the locket and the tears spilled down his cheeks as he smiled. "Still there…" he trailed off.

"I'm sorry, Prince Vael. I didn't mean to upset you,” Hawke said somberly.

"Sebastian.  _Please_. Call me Sebastian. And you've done no harm, serah. It's just…well…" he handed the now-open locket to Aspasia. Inside was a miniature painting of a young, teenage boy with bronze hair and blue eyes and…it was  _him_.  _No wonder he started crying. Poor thing._ She returned the locket and he slowly closed it, kissing it before tucking it into his belt pouch.

Aspasia closed the gap between them and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad that I was able to get this back for you, and I'm glad that I was able to help you. You seem…well, if you need anyone to talk to, Sebastian…I've got two perfectly good ears. I've lost a lot in recent times as well. We all need a little help, sometimes.” She paused, looking up at the statue of Andraste looming over them. “I know I probably can't hold a candle to Andraste, but know that if you need anything, I'll be here."

Sebastian composed himself, wiping his eyes and sniffling hard. "Thank you, Ser— _Aspasia_. Perhaps I will take you up on that sometime. But if you'll please excuse me, I have a meeting with the Viscount about getting aid for a fellow city-state,” he said, desperate to get away.

Aspasia smiled shyly. "Of course, Sebastian. Good luck to you."

Sebastian nodded politely and rushed off, making a beeline towards his quarters. Trembling fingers fumbled with the key, but he finally got the door open. Inside, he slumped against the door, pushing it closed as he slid down to the floor, burying his face in his hands. And then, finally, all the sorrow and guilt and fear he’d felt for years overwhelmed him. _Maker, why? Why them? They were all so innocent and I...I never got to say I'm sorry, not to any of them..._ Huge shuddering sobs wracked his body as he sat on the cold stone. Sebastian mourned them all—his beautiful Colleen, gentle mother, mischievous brothers, sweet sisters, dear grandmother, and even his prickly father. But it was the memory of his grandfather—who had passed so many years before the coup—that evoked a wail that echoed through the lonely corridor.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door.

“Sebastian, I heard you…are you alright? One of the Sisters said you had a visitor and seemed quite shaken,” Richard said gently.

“I’m fine. Just…it’s over. My family has...peace.”

“Oh, so it _was_ Hawke. She said she would stop by today. I’ll leave you with your thoughts…unless you’d like to talk?”

“N-no,” Sebastian spluttered. “Not right now. I’m going to do my morning prayers and take my lunch. But we do need to talk at some point about what happens next.”

“Very well,” Richard said, hesitating for a moment before deciding to not pry further.

Sebastian waited for Richard’s footsteps to fade away before crawling over to the side of his bed. He propped his elbows up on the top of the sparse coverlet and clasped his hands in prayer.  

_Maker…I know that nothing, not even bloodshed, will bring my family back, but I am grateful that you have allowed me to seek those who slaughtered your faithful servants. I thank you for bringing people I can trust into my life. I pray that you watch over Richard, I fear he doubts his path at times. And I pray that you watch over Aspasia. She is…kind, and as an apostate, she didn’t have to help a member of the Chantry. Some would have her locked away, but she is as you made her. Please, keep her safe. Amen._


	8. The Masked Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Satinalia! Kirkwall is celebrating with masked debauchery.

**_Kirkwall, 1 st of Firstfall (Satinalia), 9:31 Dragon…_ **

Kirkwall’s Hightown market buzzed with activity, even as the sun was starting its descent. The Satinalia festival was in full swing, and Sebastian Vael meandered through the pristine Hightown paths, looking at the various displays adorning the homes of the city’s richest citizens. People milled about in outlandish garb, gossiping and drinking. Merchants rejoiced over the unusually nice weather, which had customers buying goods as quickly as they could be stocked. _Reminds me of Val Royeaux,_ Sebastian thought as he recalled a slightly simpler time—a time in which he was only meant to be a temporary exile from his beloved Starkhaven.

Richard had no problems keeping tabs on his charge in the crowd, though, as Sebastian insisted on wearing his custom armor. Richard watched Sebastian from a nearby cluster of giggling maids, stifling a chuckle as the waning sunlight glinted brightly off the silver scales of the Prince’s armor. _What on Earth was Aidan thinking when he commissioned that armor?_ He furrowed his brow as Sebastian paused near a moving mass of people who were clearly clamoring for someone at the center of the chaos. The crowd paused, allowing Richard a glimpse of who was so in-demand.

_Hawke._

The Seeker relaxed slightly as the crowd began to shuffle away from the petite, flailing ginger. Once alone, the mage sighed and darted towards Jean Luc, one of Hightown’s merchants. To his surprise, Sebastian started following her. Richard looked on as the Prince kept his distance, watching but not engaging the young woman. This went on for several minutes, until Hawke completed her purchase and rushed off towards Lowtown. Sebastian sighed and slowly made his way back to the festivities.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Richard hastened his pace until he was beside his charge. “You followed her. Why?”

Sebastian snuffed. “Of course, you saw that. You see everything. Tell me, Seeker, which of my arse cheeks has the mole?”

“Left,” Richard answered with a chuckle. “You didn’t answer the question, you cheeky shit.”

Sebastian stopped walking and turned towards Richard. “I…I can never repay her kindness, nor put into words the peace she’s given me and my family. But I can buy her better equipment, and maybe…someday…I can be her friend.”

Richard raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. “Cut the bullshit, Sebastian. Friends don’t stalk friends like that. And I’ve never known you to be able to be _just_ friends with a woman.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Fine. I’ll admit; I am desperate to know more about her. She is kind, strong, and beautiful. But you and I both know I can’t marry her…she can’t possibly be nobility. I will not break my celibacy vow for anyone other than my bride, I swear.”

“Speaking of brides, you should consider looking for one. An advantageous marriage could go far towards securing the throne.”

“I’m still cloistered in the Chantry. How do you propose I start courting a lady? Dinner with the Sisters, followed by four straight hours of prayer?”

Richard let out a hearty guffaw. “Maker, the attitude today! It’s like you’re sixteen all over again. Why not start tonight? There is a masquerade at the Comte de Launcet’s estate, and I happen to know someone who can get us in. You can flirt to your heart’s content with nobody being any the wiser.”

“I have nothing to wear,” Sebastian shot back.

“We’re standing in the bloody Hightown market. We’re surrounded by merchants. Buy something, maybe?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Now who has the attitude? If you’re _soooooo_ good at this, which merchant will carry clothes fit for a Prince?”

“Follow me, I know a man,” Richard said with a sly grin.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Three hours later…_ **

“It’s not my tartan, but I suppose it will have to do,” Sebastian said as he ran his hand along the sleeve of his hunter green velvet doublet. The black leather trim along the sleeves matched black leather pants that hugged his legs. He tugged at the waistband of his pants. “Are you sure these are the right size? I swear can see everything the Maker gave me!”

The tailor stopped altering the collar of Richard’s black-and-white brocade doublet, admonishing Sebastian in a thick Orlesian accent. “What is this? You are saying I don’t know how to do my job? Do I come to the Chantry and correct your recitation of the Chant?”

Sebastian’s face blanched. “Oh no, I didn’t mean to—it’s not that, it’s just…they’re far more snug in certain areas than I’m accustomed to. Usually, I either wear robes or loose trews under my armor. And in Starkhaven, we wear kilts,” Sebastian explained as he adjusted himself. “How am I supposed to sit in these? They’ll cut me in half.” _Och, I want my kilt back._

The tailor relaxed slightly. “Ah, that explains much. You’re one of the first in the Free Marches to wear the latest fashion from Orlais. Men are wearing full trousers that fit close to the leg. No more hosen, no more codpieces. Far easier to use the privy. Just untie the front and ta-da!”

“These trousers are made from nug leather. They’ll mold to you as you wear them. My trousers are similar, though from last season, so they’re cut a bit looser. You’ll come to love them, trust me,” Richard added. “If you sit for a minute, I promise they’ll feel better.”

Sebastian shot the Seeker a look and tried to sit on the tailor’s stool. It took a few tries before he eventually felt he could ease down onto the wood without splitting the pants. After a few moments, he stood and noticed the pants had already eased a bit. He walked over to the looking glass. The dark green accentuated his auburn hair, and the doublet nipped in at the waist enough to give him a dashing v-shaped torso.

“I do look pretty good, I suppose,” Sebastian said as he raked his fingers through his hair.

The tailor whisked a small broom over Richard’s shoulders. He set the broom aside and handed something to Richard before he snatched a golden mask from a shelf on the wall. “Just one last thing—this is a masquerade, after all,” the tailor noted as he slipped the mask over Sebastian’s face. “Enjoy!”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said as he adjusted the mask. He reached for his belt pouch. “How much do I owe—“

“I already covered it. This masquerade was my idea, after all,” Richard admitted.

“Wow. You didn’t have to do that…thank you,” Sebastian murmured.

“I know, but I wanted to. I have my reasons. Let’s go,” the Seeker said as he pulled on his own black mask.

The pair walked towards Hightown, towards the de Launcet estate. Along the way, women stopped and stared at the duo, clearly liking what they saw. Years ago, the old Sebastian would have taken advantage of the ladies’ leering, but now, he was unsettled by the attention and he couldn’t pinpoint why.

Richard watched him, fascinated by his visible discomfort. “It’s as though you’ve forgotten who you were, Sebastian. Relax. There’s no pressure to bed anyone tonight. Just enjoy yourself…mingle with nobility. You’ve always been a charmer—use it to your benefit. At this party, there will be men who have the power and money to help us with what’s to come.”

Sebastian leaned in as they walked. “And what _is_ to come, Richard? We haven’t heard from Ryon in weeks. The Flint is gone, but we don’t know who sent them. Who’s to say those responsible haven’t hired another assassin to kill me?”

Richard yanked Sebastian aside, towards a secluded corner near the door to the de Launcet estate. “What do you propose, then? Sitting on our hands until we hear from Ryon? We must start gathering support for your claim now, while the shock of the coup is fresh in people’s minds. We need to call upon treaties signed when your Grandda and Da were still alive. We need to contact your mother’s family. And I hear your father made tons of promises to Tantervale to arrange for Corbinian’s marriage. Diplomacy is how we will gain the manpower necessary to take your rightful throne.”

“What about Alistair,” Sebastian asked.

“If we could secure the favor of the Ferelden crown, that would be huge. I fear Alistair will have too much to deal with to help us, but it’s worth a try, in my opinion,” Richard cautioned.

“So…what now? Do we start writing letters?”

Richard pulled Sebastian from the shadows and approached the de Launcet residence. “Yes. We’ll start that task tomorrow. Eventually, we will have to meet our allies face-to-face, but tonight, we work on refreshing our diplomatic skills. Smile,” Richard said as the pair stopped at the door. He flashed a dimpled grin and a cream-colored card with an embossed fleur-de-lis to the guardsman. The guardsman nodded and let them in.

Inside, the main hall of the de Launcet estate had been converted into a magnificent ballroom. Swags of gold satin looped from the ceiling and spiraled around the columns, softening the stark Tevinter architecture. On either side of the checkered marble floor, men and women segregated themselves, content to gossip rather than be caught mingling with the opposite sex. Sebastian and Richard had scarcely made their way over to the gathered men when a string quartet began to play. As if on cue, the men and women rushed to the center of the dance floor, quickly partnering with each other. Before Sebastian could join the fray, the dancing started and he was forced back to the sidelines with the other men who’d failed to find a dance partner.

“This…is not how it was in Starkhaven,” Sebastian whispered to Richard. “We were a bit more…informal.”

Richard nodded knowingly. “Orlesian social cues are quite rigid. It’s annoying, if I’m honest. You’ll have to find a dance partner before the music starts…but you cannot simply walk up to the women. You’ll have to make eye contact from afar. If she likes what she sees, she’ll give you a nod. That’s your cue to take her hand first once you get onto the floor. She will likely have made eyes with several other men, so move fast.”

“How do I know I’m picking someone that’s attractive? They’re all wearing masks!”

“You’re not here to find a bride tonight, Sebastian. You’re here to get back in the saddle, so to speak. To remember what it’s like to be noble. We will find you a bride soon enough.”

The dance ended, and the men and women separated once more. Sebastian strode to the front of the pack to get a better look at the women. One in blue silk stood out from the rest. Her mask was ivory, and trimmed with brown tailfeathers from an unknown bird. Her hair was wrapped in gold satin that was shaped into a low bun. She glanced coyly at Sebastian, hesitated, then gave a discreet nod. Sebastian’s heart leapt into his throat as he returned the gesture. Moments later, he heard the string quartet shuffle their sheet music. As the first rosined bow hit string, he dashed onto the floor to make his move. The woman in blue made a beeline for him and he gently clasped her hand as the dance began.

Orlesian-style dances were stuffy, nothing like the free-spirited rags of Starkhaven. They faced each other, then took two steps back and forward again. Then they turned to the side, turned back, and curtsied. It was less a dance _with_ her than _at_ her. The closest he could get was as he took her hands to do a turn, but it was all he needed. The woman had deep blue eyes and her chest turned pink as he gazed upon her. She gasped and looked away quickly, before separating to start the dance sequence over again. The music ended and Sebastian bowed deeply. “Thank you,” he whispered, but when he looked up, she had already disappeared into the gaggle of women. Sebastian stood on his toes and craned his neck to make eye contact again, but she was nowhere to be seen. Dejected, he returned to the men’s side of the dance floor. Richard stood by the bar, swirling an ice cube in his glass of scotch.

“I didn’t know you knew the Black Almain. This might be easier than I thought,” Richard teased as he took a sip of his drink.

“Did you see where she went,” Sebastian asked breathlessly, still looking all around the ballroom.

“Your partner? No, I missed her.”

“I…I need to find her. I’ll be back,” Sebastian muttered before rushing up the stairs to the second floor. Richard rolled his eyes and gave chase.

On the second floor, they found the Comte de Launcet, surrounded by Kirkwall nobility. Nearby, Richard spotted Carver Hawke. _What is he doing here?_ He approached the brash young man. “Carver.”

Carver Hawke narrowed his eyes as he folded his arms across his chest. “Seeker. To what do I owe this pleasure? Come to strangle my sister again?”

“Is she here?”

“We are under the service of the Comte tonight, so yes. She’s been sticking close to the Comtesse,” Carver replied, never looking away from the Comte.

“What is she wearing?”

“Why would I care?”

“Because she’s your sister, and any mercenary worth their salt always knows their partners’ disguises?”

“Fine. She was in blue. Ivory mask with feathers. But she said something about a possible threat, so she left to investigate. Don’t know when she’ll return. Do you need me to pass a message?”

“No, and was that so hard,” Richard hissed before walking back to Sebastian’s side.

“Miss!” Sebastian called towards a woman in blue, but when she turned around, it was not the woman he’d danced with. “Sorry, thought you were someone else,” he muttered sadly.

Richard put a gentle hand on Sebastian’s shoulder to get his attention. “What was your partner wearing, again,” he asked, somehow already knowing the answer.

“Blue. Ivory feathered mask. Have you seen her?”

 _Hawke. Figures. I need to have another chat with her, methinks._ “No. She may have left. Why don’t we go back downstairs and try to find a different partner?”

“I—I don’t feel up to it,” Sebastian fibbed.

“Sebastian…”

The auburn-haired prince rolled his eyes. “Ugh, fine.”

The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of dancing, mingling, and feasting. By the end of it all, both men were exhausted. They meandered through Kirkwall’s streets until they reached the Chantry.

“Thanks,” Richard said as he stopped short of the Chantry doors.

Sebastian gave him a quizzical look. “For what?”

“For putting yourself out there, for acting the part. I needed to know that you still could,” Richard said as he pulled the double doors open.

“Why wouldn’t I be able to,” Sebastian whispered as they walked towards the staircase leading down to their rooms.

Richard took a long time responding, carefully choosing his words. “You said it yourself earlier—you’ve been cloistered in the Chantry for years. You’ve spent a lot of that time beating yourself up over the way you were in Starkhaven. I was afraid that the real you—the charming diplomat—had been bottled up for good. But you handled yourself with grace tonight, both with men and women. Now go, get some rest, and we’ll start writing our letters tomorrow.”

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Meanwhile, in Starkhaven…_ **

Flora Harimann stood in her mother’s study, looking at Johane with disgust. “I won’t do it,” she said. “You can’t make me marry him—he’s…he’s…What about our children? What if they end up…like _him_?”

“There, there, sweet child,” Johane said as she wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Nobody said anything about children sired by _him_. You must bear children, ‘tis true, but they needn’t be from his seed. There are ways to avoid it, you’ll see.”

Flora tore herself from her mother’s grasp. “Why can’t I marry Sebastian? Isn’t he the rightful ruler anyway? Seems like a preferable—“

“Absolutely not,” Johane hissed, taken aback by the suggestion. “We need Goran. Sebastian is far too unpredictable and disliked to succeed on the throne. And why on Thedas would you ask about him, anyway? Nobody has seen him in years. Who knows if he’s even still alive?”

“Oh, he’s in Kirkwall,” Flora said flippantly as she inspected a vase on the fireplace’s mantle. “He’s a Brother in the Chantry. I happened to go to services on the day he took his vows. He’s grown into quite the handsome man, I must say.”

Johane’s jaw dropped. “He’s in Kirkwall,” she asked incredulously.

A tap at the door interrupted Johane before she could interrogate Flora further. Captain Ramsay rushed in. “My Lady, an urgent message.”

Johane sighed. “Flora, we will continue our discussion later. Will you excuse us?”

Flora rolled her eyes and stomped out of the room like a petulant child. Ramsay handed Johane the folded missive. She deftly broke the seal and scanned the contents.

“Well, shit,” Johane sighed as she tossed the note into the blazing fire. “The Flint have backed out of their contract. Something about losing three squadrons in a week, thanks to a directive from someone on Sebastian Vael’s behalf.”

“Sebastian Vael is still alive,” Ramsay asked. “I don’t like this one bit.”

Johane threw up her hands in frustration. “Yes, he’s alive, and in the Kirkwall Chantry, according to Flora. Why she never thought to share this is beyond me.”

Ramsay pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head as the news sank in. “Shall I tell the servants to prepare your trunks?”

“Yes. I do believe I have unfinished business to take care of in Kirkwall. Have Brett and Flora prepare as well. I need you to stay here and watch over Goran. I’d like to leave in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally blame Ryan for this chapter, and he knows why. I don't know why my muse has come rushing back to me, but I'll take it for as long as he'll stick around! No beta, so all errors are mine. Thanks, as ever, for all the support. It means so much! <3


	9. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard receives orders. Sebastian makes a confession. Hawke leaves for the Deep Roads. (More POV swaps from Hawke's Journal)

**_2 nd of Firstfall, 9:31 Dragon…_ **

Richard awoke, head pounding, and he instantly regretted drinking so much scotch at the masquerade. _It’s been many, many years since I’ve been this hungover._ He stumbled over to his wash basin, hastily dumping water into the bowl and splashing his face with it in an effort to wake up. Nauseated, he stayed hunched over the basin for a moment as he dabbed at his face with a towel. When he finally stood, he noticed a note tucked into the frame of his looking glass. Puzzled, he snatched the paper from the frame and tore it open.

 

 

> _Falcon:_
> 
> _I have received your latest. Protect the target at all costs. If you have the opportunity to do recon, do it. I have other birds in the sky._
> 
> _\--Nightingale_

He tossed the note into the fire as he admonished himself for being so careless. _How did she get someone in here without my knowledge?_ Still, he felt relieved that he now had leave to continue protecting Sebastian, even if the Prince left Kirkwall, just as they had discussed the night before. Richard hastily pulled on his everyday uniform: black leather pants, black linen tunic, and a black hooded leather chestpiece. Black boots completed the ensemble. Kissing his Seeker pendant, he tucked it inside his tunic. He stormed out of his room and toward Sebastian’s. When the Prince failed to respond to his knocks, Richard assumed he’d already gotten up. As he made his way through the Chantry, he couldn’t find Sebastian in any of his customary spots. Growing worried, he stopped a Sister near the double doors.

“Excuse me, have you seen Brother Sebastian this morning? We were supposed to meet.”

“I saw him walk out not long ago. Don’t know where he was headed, though. Sorry.”

Richard muttered a quick _thanks_ as he dashed outside and ran down the stairs. Frantically, he asked every person along the way if they’d seen Sebastian Vael. All but one denied seeing him, with the lone witness stating the Prince had been walking toward the market just minutes prior.

As he entered the market, Richard spotted Sebastian almost immediately. He positioned himself behind a column as he watched Sebastian cautiously approach Jean Luc, the mage supplier. The men spoke at length, with Jean Luc becoming confused by whatever Sebastian seemed desperate to explain. Finally, Sebastian pulled several gold coins from his belt pouch. When he handed them to Jean Luc, the merchant finally realized what the Prince was trying to do. Jean Luc smiled and pulled an elegantly-carved staff from below his table. Inspecting it briefly, Sebastian nodded his approval. The merchant set the weapon aside, marked it as sold, and Sebastian headed towards Lowtown. 

Richard followed at his customary distance, pausing at Jean Luc’s booth.

“Serah. The young man that was just here… He’s no mage. Why did he buy a staff?”

Jean Luc grinned. “It took a moment for him to explain it, but he bought it for me to give to Serah Hawke. That’s not the unusual part, though—he wanted the gift to be anonymous.” The merchant shrugged. “I don’t get it—most men buy such gifts to boost their image in the community as well as in the relationship. He spent 10 gold on a gift his lady will never be able to properly thank him for.”

Richard was confused. “Wait. Did he specifically say that Serah Hawke is ‘ _his lady’_?”

Jean Luc shook his head. “No, but why would a man buy an expensive gift for a woman if he’s not intent on courting her? I happen to think she deserves such a thoughtful young man. She works hard to protect her family, you know.”

Richard shook his head and pressed his lips together into a thin line. “I…think I know the answer to your question. Thank you, Serah.”

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

****

**_Later that evening…_**

Sebastian was busy changing out the spent candles at the base of the Chantry dais when he spotted Aspasia slipping into the Chantry. The evening service concluded about an hour prior, so the huge building was practically empty, save for scattered Brothers and Sisters milling about. He watched as she made her way toward the confessional booths. Surprised that she was one of the faithful, he couldn’t help but stop her.

"Hawke,” Sebastian whispered.

The ginger jumped and froze. "Sebastian," Aspasia said as she turned around slowly. "What are you still doing here? I thought you said you'd be gone by now."

Sebastian ran a hand through his auburn hair, looking at the floor. "I…I got delayed. I'll be leaving tomorrow morning." _Maker, forgive that tiny white lie._

"Well…it just so happens that I'm leaving for the Deep Roads tomorrow. What a coincidence." Aspasia smiled warmly.

_Yes. Coincidence. I have to see you off, to offer a blessing before you go onto this most dangerous journey. I owe you that much, at least._

"That's right…I heard about that. So you managed to pull it off, saving up all that coin. That's very impressive." Sebastian gave Aspasia a lopsided grin. _Quite amazing, actually._

"Thank you, Sebastian," Aspasia mumbled, the tips of her ears turning slightly pink.

"Well, since I won't be leaving until you do—as it sounds—why don't I come to see your expedition off? I could give a benediction or lead a prayer…"

"I'd like that. That's very kind of you to offer, Sebastian."

"Oh, it'd be my pleasure. It's the least I can do for the person who brought those Flint Company bastards to justice…and managed to bring me something so precious in the process. You could have pocketed that and sold it and I'd have been none the wiser. I still…" Sebastian trailed off, looking down at the smooth stone floor again, overwhelmed by emotion.

"Sebastian…I could never have done that." Aspasia saw his shuddering sigh and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey…remember when I said you could always talk to me? Why don't we go do that? We both have a big task before us…let's take a moment, shall we?"

Sebastian looked up and cocked his head to the side as he considered the offer. He grinned. "Yes. Let's go to the garden. It's lovely at sunset." He offered his arm to Aspasia, who took it hesitantly. He guided her to a stone bench set in front of a small fountain, the bubbling water a slight but soothing sound. The sunset, with its oranges and purples and pinks and blues all smudged together was bathing the garden's foliage in soft warm light. The stained glass windows of the small side chapel within the Chantry began to glow as candles were being lit within the building.

Aspasia looked into Sebastian's eyes, searching for something. He felt like he was being interrogated, but he still could not look away—her gaze was too open and honest to ignore.

"So…I know I barely know you, Sebastian…but I can feel the hurt in you,” Aspasia said quietly. “I've had a lot of loss in the past few years too, and I think if you talk about your family it will help. When I talk about my father and sister, it helps me. I recall the good things. It keeps them alive in my heart."

Sebastian had scarcely let Hawke finished before words spilled from his mouth. "You know, the one I miss the most…passed before I even went to the Chantry. My grandfather taught me everything I know…trained me with my bow, loved me even when my father…" Sebastian choked up. "Even when my father didn't." Tears slid down his cheeks. _Oh sweet Andraste…I…she's right. This feels so good to get off my chest._

"Your father didn't love you?" Aspasia was wide-eyed, incredulous.

"I'm—I _was_ —the third son. My parents were very traditional. They had the heir, Corbinian, the spare, Gavin, and I was…left in the cold. I was supposed to be a girl, apparently. So even from the start I was a disappointment," Sebastian spat. 

"Now Sebastian…I'm sure you were anything but a disappointment,” Aspasia soothed.

"Oh, but I was…except to my grandfather who, thankfully, never saw the worst of me." Sebastian paused, looking at his hands, which were folded in his lap. "Would you like to know how I came to be in the Chantry?" He didn't look up.

Aspasia peaked an eyebrow. "Well…I was rather curious how a Prince could also be a Brother, so…yes."

Sebastian looked Aspasia dead in the eyes. "I was put in the Chantry as punishment."

Aspasia's mouth fell open slightly. "What did you _do_?"

The Prince shook his head slowly, a wry smirk on his lips. "Oh, it wasn't just one thing. It was many, many things. I was _terrible_. I was a worthless rake, drinking, whoring, gambling, fighting…being put here was the best thing that could've happened, honestly. I'd probably be dead by now." He tore his eyes away from Aspasia's, again inspecting his folded, broad hands.

Aspasia's mouth hung open even further now. She recovered enough to ask, "But you're so young still…how old were you when…?"

"When I lost my innocence? Too young, Hawke. I was far too young. I managed to get myself given to the Chantry at seventeen…and it had taken a few years to do it. I’ve been exiled for five years, now."

Aspasia shook her head lightly, a smirk on her lips. "You know, I'm nearly twenty-one and I'm still a virgin?"

Sebastian chuckled and blushed. "Hang on to that for as long as you can, trust me. I wish for all of Thedas that I had stayed innocent for longer than I did," he muttered. "Anyway. It's just so hard to think of them all… _gone_. It didn’t even really hit me until you handed me that locket. I hadn't seen my father since I left for the Chantry. Corbinian and Gavin came to visit me in Val Royeaux once. My sisters…they were too young to really understand that I was never coming back to Starkhaven. My mother and grandmother made the trip to Denerim a couple of times, but Father…he put an end to that. One of the last memories I have of my grandmother is seeing my locket around her neck and wondering if my picture was still inside, or if she had replaced it with a portrait of Corbinian's baby boy." A fat tear splashed onto Sebastian's knee. "I never even got to meet the wee lad…I heard he was a beautiful babe, every bit a Vael…" Sebastian's voice grew thicker as he spoke of the last times he saw his family members, finally drifting off on to a tangent about archery as Aspasia just sat and listened.

"Sebastian?"

The Prince stopped babbling at the surprising softness of Hawke's voice. "Yes? Oh wait…you probably don't care about fletching arrows, sorry."

"It's not that…I was just wondering…can I give you a hug? You seem like you could use one. _I_ could use one."

Sebastian hesitated slightly. _What's the harm in such a sweet gesture?_ "Of course. There's nothing in my vows that says I cannot enjoy a simple gesture such as that."

Aspasia wrapped her arms around Sebastian's broad shoulders and leaned in for a quick hug. _Maker, preserve me, but this feels so nice...and I’ve wanted to hug her since the day she returned Gran’s locket..._ Sebastian lost himself completely as he wrapped her up in his arms, pressing her to him and cradling the back of her head, twirling his fingers into her curls as she nuzzled into his shoulder. _Her hair is as soft as the finest Orlesian silk…and she smells so good…_ The faint aromas of honeysuckle and vanilla tickled his nose, and Sebastian let out a contented sigh as he felt familiar twinges of desire spark in his core. _But this…pleasure…this is an abuse of her kindness. This is wrong. I can’t…_

Sebastian released Hawke from the embrace, disgusted with himself. "I'm sorry, Hawke…that was…inappropriate," he whispered, unable to meet her eyes. _Maker, forgive me. Please, please do not let me slip into old ways._

"What was inappropriate about that? We both needed a hug. And you," Aspasia replied, gently poking his chest with her index finger, "are a giver of fantastic hugs!"

Sebastian rose awkwardly. "I…I shouldn't have let myself hold you so close. Thank you, though, I do believe you were right. Talking about my family has helped immensely. I…need to go pray. A lot. I will see you tomorrow morning. From where are you leaving?"

“Hightown. Do you know where the Paragon statues are? There,” Aspasia muttered, confused, as she chewed her lower lip and stared at the dirt.

Sebastian opened his mouth as though to speak but stopped, instead turning to return to the interior of the massive temple. He hesitated before pushing the rear door of the Chantry open. _I really ought to explain myself…oh, I’ll only make things worse…_

After a few moments, Aspasia exited through the rear gate of the garden and made her way to Lowtown—to the Hanged Man—to have a drink with Varric ** _._** As soon as Aspasia took the first swig of her ale, a hand grabbed her shoulder.

“Richard!”

“Serah Hawke. We need to have a word. _Now_ ,” the Seeker growled in her ear.

Aspasia winced, swallowed, and set her ale on the table. She followed Richard out of Varric’s quarters to an empty room down the hall. He shut the door behind them and wheeled around on Hawke, grabbing her shoulders as he shoved her against the wall.

“What did I say about sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?” The Seeker’s gray-green eyes swirled with anger.

Hawke was gripped by fear as she called on her mana. _What could I possibly have done?_ “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Richard narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer, his nose only millimeters from hers. He felt her mana then, and deftly countered it with a drain spell. “Oh yes, you do. Last night, at the masquerade, then tonight at the Chantry? Sebastian has come way too far to be brought down by a harlot like you.”

Hawke gasped for air as the pain of the drain spell seared through her. “Harlot? When all I’ve done is help him? That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Why else would a lowborn like you want anything to do with a Prince, if not to bed him and get with his child for blackmail? Unless you’ve been playing me the whole time and are really working for _them_ ,” Richard accused in a venomous tone.

Hawke writhed in agony. “Lowborn? My mother is Kirkwall nobility. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Amells? And if you’re _still_ questioning my loyalties, Seeker, then perhaps we should duke it out, right here, right now. I don’t take having my integrity cast into doubt lightly.”

Even with her magic disabled, Hawke was defiant. Richard paused, considering her words before letting her go. Hawke slumped against the wall, crumpling on the floor in a heap. He paced with his hands on his hips for several moments before stopping in front of her. “Why were you at the masquerade?”

“I was paid to guard the Comtesse. Carver told you that,” Hawke muttered as she winced. Each breath felt like inhaling needles.

Richard stopped, looming over her. “No, why were you dancing?”

“The Comtesse was dancing. I needed to blend in to stay close.”

Richard crouched down. “Why dance with _Sebastian_?”

Hawke looked directly into Richard’s eyes. “I didn’t realize it was him until halfway through the dance, when I met his eyes. I left as soon as the dance was over before he could recognize me. It was an honest mistake!”

Richard stood and scratched at the stubble on his chin. _She claims she's not lowborn, and she seems eager to keep him safe. Plus, he seems to have taken a fancy to her. Maybe I shouldn’t stamp this…whatever it is…out just yet._ “The Amells, you say?”

“My mother is Lady Leandra Amell, daughter of Lord Aristide Amell,” Hawke said bitterly.

Richard shook his head. “You continue to surprise me, Serah Hawke. I’m sorry if I hurt you, but you must understand I have spent _years_ ensuring Sebastian Vael stays alive, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to misplace my trust now. If we continue working together, you can expect me to constantly test your loyalty. If that is unacceptable, let us part ways now.”

“No, I…I understand. You’re doing your job. I would do the same in your place,” Hawke admitted softly.

“I’m glad. Best of luck on your journey,” Richard said abruptly. He slipped out of the room, leaving Hawke sitting on the floor, stunned.

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

****

**_Kirkwall, 3 rd of Firstfall, 9:31 Dragon…_ **

Sebastian walked briskly towards the group gathered in the far, dwarven-styled corner of Hightown, anxiety twisting his gut as he admonished himself for taking so long to complete his morning duties. _I bet I missed her._ He let out a sigh of relief as he spotted Hawke. Jostling his way through the crowd, the Prince positioned himself near the petite ginger and waited for an opportunity to get her attention.

Aspasia heard the commotion behind her and turned around. She smiled and approached Sebastian, who blushed slightly and looked down as she drew near. "Sebastian…"

"Hawke. I owe you an explanation," Sebastian mumbled.

"No need," she said, waving away his offer with a friendly hand.

Sebastian met her gesture with a pained gaze. "Yes. I do. I just got carried away last night…it'd been so long since anyone offered such kindness to me, let alone something as intimate as a hug. I…I briefly reverted to that _old_ me, I think. I felt as though I was abusing your gesture. So, while I thank you from the depths of my heart for being so sweet, I must say that I cannot accept a hug like that from you again. It tested my vows much more than I could have anticipated," he said quickly, as if the will to speak such words would leave him if he didn't force them out. "You should take it as a compliment."

Aspasia frowned, obviously annoyed. "What? How could I take 'don't touch me again' as a compliment?"

 _Well…this isn't going like I thought it would…_ "That’s not what I said. What I meant is that you are the first woman in a long, long time to test my vows like that, and that temptation isn't just from your fair looks, either. You are kind, despite--"

Aspasia's eyes narrowed in anger as she cut him off. "Despite what? Being a mage? A former mercenary? A sometime-assassin? A _sinner_?"

Sebastian let out his breath in a loud huff and blinked hard. He twisted his fingers in his hair, desperate to fix this somehow. "Look, Hawke…I’ve heard things about you. I know the things that you've had to do to survive the Blight haven't been pleasant, but the situation hasn't been ideal. For some people, doing those kinds of things would spoil them…it would harden them. But that hasn't happened to you. You have a kind soul. That's all I meant. Nothing more." He felt relief wash over him as Aspasia's defensive stance softened. "Now…may I lead you and your brother in a prayer? I'm pretty sure I won't put my foot in my mouth doing that." He allowed himself a slight chuckle.

"Just _pretty_ sure?" Aspasia teased lightly. "You're forgiven, Sebastian. Maker knows how hard it's been to not be totally jaded by everything. Thank you for seeing past the things I've been forced to do.” She looked over her shoulder. “Hey Carver, get over here!”

The younger Hawke approached, eyeing Sebastian skeptically. “Carver Hawke,” he muttered, shoving his hand forward.

Sebastian shook his hand firmly. “A pleasure. Sebastian Vael. Now, let us join hands,” he said. “Maker, please watch over Aspasia and Carver as they embark on this most dangerous journey. Lead them through the perils of the Deep Roads, past the wretched Darkspawn, so that they may come home to us once more. Maker, let their journey be prosperous and successful, and be their light when the path is dark. In your name, Amen.”

“Amen,” Aspasia and Carver murmured. Carver bolted for Varric’s side.

“Thank you,” Aspasia said softly. “And I will pray for your travels to be safe as well. Goodbye, Sebastian Vael. May we meet again.” She hesitated, restraining the urge to give Sebastian another hug. Instead, she offered her hand and he gently kissed it. She gave the Prince a smile and walked away.

Sebastian watched the woman walk away, a pang of longing in his chest growing with each step she took. _Yes…may we meet again._ He watched her for several moments before making his way back to the Chantry.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Later that evening…_ **

Richard strolled through the empty corridor leading towards Sebastian’s quarters, humming softly to himself. He was about to knock on the door when he noticed it was slightly ajar. His heart leapt into his throat. _Maker, could someone have infiltrated this place?_ He put a hand on the hilt of his dagger as he pushed the door open with the other. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Sebastian frantically packing his bags.

“Where do you think you’re going, Sebastian?” Richard asked, startling the auburn-haired Prince.

“As we discussed, I need allies. I’m going to Denerim. I’m also going to speak to Mother’s relatives in Ostwick, Mara’s family in Tantervale, and…um…to Starkhaven. I think…I think if I can get Goran alone, I might be able to reason with him.”

“And you didn’t think to notify _me_? You are the only legitimate heir to one of the most powerful principalities in the Free Marches, and you mean to go on a world tour on your own? What happened to our plan? These people don’t even know to expect you!”

Sebastian’s guilty look was his answer. “I…I must do this on my own, Richard,” he blurted, shoving another shirt into his pack. “If I am to prove myself worthy of the crown, I cannot appear weak.”

“And I suppose this has nothing to do with a certain young lady leaving for the Deep Roads this morning, either,” Richard teased.

Sebastian shoved his pack away in frustration. “I’m not following Hawke into the Deep Roads, if that’s what you’re getting at. I think…it’s just time, that’s all. Time for me to get out of this city, time for me to prove myself. If Hawke can make her way through this world on her own, so can I.”

Richard bore a stony expression in an attempt to intimidate the Prince. “Then you are truly a fool, Sebastian Vael. I shall not waste any more prayers on you.” He spun and strode towards the door, placing his hand on the knob. “Before I leave you for _good_ , Your Highness, tell me…did your father ever do anything without his captain by his side? How about your Grandda?”

Sebastian thought hard, mentally rifling through scores of memories. Though he’d paid little mind, sure enough, his Grandda and father had constant guardians. Only then did Richard’s words hit him. _Is this how it ends? Years of loyal service…of friendship…and I’m turning him away over my foolish pride?_ He grimaced and shook his head.

Disappointed by the lack of reply, Richard turned the knob and pulled on the oak door.

“Richard, wait. You’re right,” Sebastian said. “I’d be a fool to enter the wyvern’s den without help. But are you sure you’re free to accompany me? This is going to be a very long journey, and the Seekers might need you.”

The Seeker smirked triumphantly, his back still facing the prince as he recalled his letter from Leliana. “Seekers go where they are needed. You need me. It is done. But, let us get a good night's rest and leave in the morning. We will send a letter to Denerim right away and pray it reaches King Alistair before we arrive. I also believe Her Grace would be quite upset if you left without saying goodbye.”

“Agreed,” Sebastian said quietly. “And Richard? Thank you…for everything.”

Richard said nothing, only giving the Prince a nod as he left the room.

 

_**oOo END ACT ONE oOo** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done three updates in relatively quick succession! :D  
> We're done with Act One. We won't follow Sebastian on all his travels, but we will go to a couple of places with him. [Edited to note a slight change in the outline of this story.]


	10. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Richard travel to Denerim, looking for support from an old friend. Richard tries to tie up loose ends from his past.

**_ACT II_ **

****

**_Denerim Palace, 10 th of Wintermarch, 9:32 Dragon…_**

A gentleman of Alistair's Privy Chamber stepped into the study and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven is here."

Alistair looked up from the papers on his desk and grinned. "Splendid! Would you please show him in?" 

The young man turned and nodded to the King's Guard who, in turn, led Sebastian into the King of Ferelden's study. The Prince had foregone his white armor, opting instead to wear the velvet-and-leather finery he’d picked up for the Satinalia masquerade at the Comte de Launcet’s estate. _No kilt, but soon, with any luck._

Sebastian bowed deeply. "Your Highness, may I-"

Alistair shot out of his chair, rushing to the Prince and throwing his arms around him. "Sebastian. You're my friend! Call me Alistair. If you don't, I may be forced to try to fire an arrow in your general direction,” he teased with a wink and nudge.

Sebastian laughed, recalling the disaster that was his attempt to teach the warrior how to shoot a bow so very long ago. "Please, please…anything but that!" He regained his composure and cleared his throat. "Alistair, may I just take a moment and apologize for the delay? Kirkwall was hit by a massive storm just I was supposed to leave, and it took quite some time to secure passage on another ship. I am hum-"

Alistair smiled as he dismissed the formality. "You're always welcome here, Sebastian. You will always receive my hospitality. The delay was actually a good thing, because you would have arrived during the wedding and coronation mess. We’d never have had a chance to meet privately. Come, sit with me. Let us catch up." Alistair gestured towards a pair of brocade wingback chairs near the fire. He raised his hand, beckoning a servant to bring wine. Once served, both men took sips, their motions oddly synchronized.  _Maker, how long has it been?_

"Can you believe it's been nearly two years already?" Sebastian blurted, as if he had heard Alistair's thought. "You...whisked away by the fabled Grey Wardens and I…banished to Kirkwall. You kill the archdemon, become King, take a wife and I…rot in Kirkwall," Sebastian chuckled.

Alistair arched an eyebrow at him. "That's not all that happened to you and you know it, Sebastian. And I know I said as much in my letter to you, but again…I am so very sorry about your family. To lose family is hard enough, but the circumstances… well…I understand the mercenaries who killed them have been brought to justice? There's got to be at least a small measure of comfort in that."

"Aye, they have,” Sebastian choked. “By a most motley band of Fereldan refugees, of all people."

Alistair looked at Sebastian skeptically. "No Coterie? No Crows? No Red Iron? Just refugees from Ferelden?" The King beamed like a proud papa as Sebastian nodded.

"Yep. And their leader is a beautiful woman…inside as well as out. She is as kind as she is fearless." Sebastian pondered the red liquid in his pewter goblet. "Even took the time to return my grandmother's locket to me. She could've sold it—Maker knows a refugee could always use the coin—but she didn't. I hope I can repay her adequately upon my return to Kirkwall."

"Now, now, Seb," Alistair mock-scolded, "As I recall, you took vows of chastity when you became a Brother. Aren't you tempting fate a bit by consorting with pretty women?"

Sebastian gave him a wry smile. "Yes…if I hadn't forsworn my vows when I decided to offer the bounty for my family's killers…and take my rightful place on the throne."

Alistair perked up, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Well, if you're leaving the Chantry to retake Starkhaven…and you've forsworn your vows…what's stopping you from coming with me to the Gnawed Noble and for some good ol' fashioned drinking, gambling, and wenching?"

Sebastian smiled wistfully as he gently shook his head. "I…I literally have no interest in being that... _waste_ again. I've been in the Chantry since I was seventeen. It was a long, hard road to finally reach the point where Grand Cleric Elthina would allow me to become fully invested. It nearly killed me inside when I had to break my vows to pursue this. It was the hardest decision I've ever made. But still, there is a peace residing within my soul now, where only emptiness was before. The only other time I've felt so peaceful was when I was with Colleen…" he trailed off, taking a long swig of his wine. "The vows are the key to that inner peace now, I believe. Only now they are between the Maker and myself, as the Chantry no longer recognizes me as a Brother. So, while you are right—I am free to do what I wish—I do not wish to break the vows I made to the Maker. I guess I could drink a bit, but I'm not doing much gambling and definitely no wenching!"

Alistair smiled warmly. "I'm really proud of you, Sebastian…you've made incredible strides since we first met.” He furrowed his brows in confusion. “But how in Andraste's name are you going to manage to rule without taking a wife and producing an heir? Wouldn't it be better to just help another member of your family—one that's more capable than Goran—take the crown?"

Sebastian sighed heavily. "I will eventually have to break the chastity vow. But I swear to you, Alistair, I will not break it for a woman I do not love. If I never find love, and never know the touch of a woman again as a result, then so be it. I'm leaving it up to the Maker. Hopefully he will see fit to grace me with a Princess as beautiful and capable as your Queen. I saw her in passing on my way here. You are a lucky man, Alistair."  _He definitely wound up with a wildcat in the sack, that's for sure. Perhaps she's a bit more_ _emotionally stable these days?_

Alistair looked at his wine bitterly. "Do not be fooled. I do not love Elissa, at least not in that way. We did what we had to in order to stop the Blight, to save Ferelden. Now we continue to… _do_ what we must to produce an heir, but she is not…no. I had that, though.  _Love_ . Right after Ostagar. I let her slip through my fingers and now…" he trailed off, swallowing hard. "And now she's dead. I always wondered how hard it was for you, dealing with the loss of someone you cared so deeply for…I never really understood until…"

Sebastian gave Alistair a concerned look. "Do you want to talk about her or is it too difficult?"

Alistair worried the golden hawk pendant at his neck as he looked into the fire. "She was so beautiful, Sebastian. Ginger hair and blue eyes and freckles—oh, the freckles. When we kissed, it was like the sun burned brighter, the air smelled sweeter, the birds sang more…all that hokey stuff the poets like to say. But it's true—as corny as it sounds, it's true—when you're in love, everything is better, even during a Blight."

The King of Ferelden looked straight at Sebastian, a determined look on his face. "I only knew her for two weeks.  _Two weeks_ , Sebastian. I've never been happier in my life. I swear to you, if she walked into this room right now, I would put Ellie aside and make her mine…she was lowborn, but damn the nobility! You know I never wanted this!" he spat, gesturing around him. "I just wanted to marry her, live in the country, have a family, and live a quiet existence where I didn't have to acknowledge this damned Theirin blood in my veins. I have no doubt in my mind that the Maker made us for each other. Why he saw fit to take her away…well, it's not my place to question the Maker, but I can't help but think that if I hadn't left her behind, she'd be right here by my side." He finished his wine in a single gulp and slammed the cup down on the side table, glaring at the leaping flames.

"Aye, the Maker has plans for us all. I'm sorry you lost her, she sounded lovely," Sebastian murmured softly, a wistful look on his face.  _I remember that…everything_ was _better when I was in love._

Eyes still fixed on the flames, Alistair continued quietly. "She was supposed to flee with her family to Highever, but I got a letter informing me that she was presumed to have been killed by darkspawn. They couldn't even… _identify_ her," Alistair choked. "I can't go visit her…leave her flowers…it  _hurts_ . It hurts like nothing else, even today. But I wouldn't give back those two weeks for anything."

"That's the feeling I want again, if the Maker will allow it, pain and all. That's what life is all about.  _That_ is what I would break my vows for," Sebastian said softly.

"If the Maker wills it, she will practically fall from the sky…or your companion's Mabari will harass her in the Chantry." Alistair smiled, recalling the memory of how he met Aspasia Hawke. Silence lingered for several moments. Suddenly, Alistair sat up straight and cleared his throat. "Now…let's talk business quickly, before Elissa comes. She would not be pleased if she knew I was making deals with anyone from the Free Marches."

"Why is that? The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble with the wife," Sebastian replied with a crooked smile.  _Heh. Sounds like she IS just as crazy as ever._

Alistair threw his hands up. "You know, I have no idea. I think she's just being snotty about it…how you all are principalities and city-states, not proper kingdoms. Or maybe she's obsessed with defeating Orlais."

"Orlais? You have problems with them, too? Seems half of what I hear folk in Kirkwall talk about is Orlais."

"Doesn't everybody? Anyway, I'm more than willing to provide you with armed forces for your campaign, Sebastian. But I need something in return."

Sebastian peaked an eyebrow. "Let me guess…future help with Orlais."

Alistair smiled. "Not exactly. I’m trying to avoid war, so Ferelden can actually recover from the Blight. But perhaps we could strike a trade deal?"

"I will say that Starkhaven wool and whisky are second to none…but we can work on the details of that should my campaign be successful. I'd hate to get too far ahead of myself."

Alistair pursed his lips as he scratched his chin. "Good call. But just to get things started…perhaps we could offer grain or cotton in exchange? Just something to consider." Sebastian nodded. "Good. I'll have my Seneschal draw up a formal treaty and we can sign it in the morning…get you back home post-haste."

Sebastian swirled the wine dregs in his cup as he spoke. "Well…I actually have more travels in store. From here, I’m off to Ansburg, Ostwick, Tantervale, and Cumberland before I return to Kirkwall. That's where I'll have to be based out of while I secure the support of the nobility in Starkhaven. I could go in with all the men in Thedas but if the nobility no longer backs  _my_ Vael line, it'll all be for naught. They’ll depose me as soon as the last ally steps off Starkhaven soil."

"So, when do you think you will need my aid?"

"I suspect it may take some time. I need to find out who paid the Flint Company, for starters. I have to crush that enemy first, or else I may not live to try to take my throne." Sebastian shivered, recalling the close calls he had while in the Chantry before Hawke eliminated the mercenary group.  _They came so close to killing me—more than once—and I didn't even know they were a threat._

"Very well. Just let me know, and we'll be there." Alistair gave Sebastian an easy smile.

"Thanks, Alistair. You're a good man, you know?"

The King waved his hands. "Oh, you know it's just part of my big plot to take over all of Thedas and subject everyone to stinky cheeses and fancy parties all the time. Because I'm evil like that, you know. Mwah-ha-haha-haaaaa!"

Sebastian laughed, shaking his head. "Aye. We must have switched roles in Denerim, then. Now I'm the good, chaste lad and you're bent on world domination."

"Eh, a fair assessment. I didn't sleep with half of Thedas, though." Alistair snorted.

"Ouch!" Sebastian mockingly clutched his chest. "I would say you wound me but you speak the truth. I'm glad you never followed me down that dark path, Alistair. It would have ruined you. I am sorry that I coerced you into sneaking out and going to the tavern with me all those times."

Alistair grinned. "I had the time of my life! In retrospect, it helped get me ready for life outside of the Chantry. And trust me, once I was in the Wardens…my life got really crazy, really quickly. Some of your, uh, tips for the ladies helped me once I got to Lothering."

Sebastian gave a lopsided smirk as he looked into his empty goblet. "Glad to help. So…you mentioned going down to the tavern earlier…still game? I could use a night out with my best friend."

"You have no idea how game, friend. Let's go."

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

Alistair and Sebastian walked into the Gnawed Noble tavern and found a seat in the corner. Both men had decided to don their armor…just in case. _Denerim tavern folk can get real violent, real quick,_ Alistair thought. _And I’m sure some people will recognize Sebastian._

They hadn't been there long before one of the locals recognized Alistair and wandered over. "Your Highness, it's been a while," the man boomed. "And you've a friend, I see. Fellow royal, by the looks of that…wait…is that Andraste's face coverin' his cock?" Alistair grinned and nodded vigorously, and he and the man dissolved into giggles while Sebastian turned red. "Anyway, we's havin' quite the game of Wicked Grace o'er there if you'd like t' join. You too…er…"

"Thomas," the Prince lied.  _I don’t know if anyone will recognize or even remember me, but best not tempt fate._

"Thomas, eh? Yer accent sounds like you're pretty far from home, don'cha think? Anyway, as long as your coin is made of gold like ours, I'll be more than happy to take it from ye. C'mon, let's go."

As the hours went on and both Alistair and Sebastian got deeper and deeper into their cups, they cared less and less that Sebastian was supposed to be keeping to his vows—mostly—by not getting too carried away with gambling. Maybe it was the ale, maybe it was the fact that they had a sizeable pile of coin in front of them that let Sebastian keep going, but eventually he realized he should quit while he was ahead. Alistair begrudgingly agreed and they stumbled out of the tavern, arm-in-arm, slurring a merry tune.

They weren't twenty feet inside the palace when a very upset Elissa Cousland-Theirin greeted them.

"Alistair! So glad to see you made it back in one piece. Who is our friend, darling?" Elissa asked, her tone sickeningly sweet.  _What in Thedas is this asshole doing in my palace? What has he gotten my poor Alistair into?_

"Thish—thish is Sebashun Vael. From Shtarkhaven," Alistair slurred, giggling as he realized that he had absolutely massacred that attempt at coherent speech. Sebastian, who wasn't much less drunk than the King, pretended to be mad and failed miserably. Both men doubled over with laughter as Elissa only folded her arms even tighter against her chest.

She cleared her throat.  _Great. Asshole got Alistair drunk. Perfect. No baby-making tonight, then._ "Boys." No response. "BOYS!"

That got Sebastian's attention, who managed to nudge Alistair in the ribs.  _Och. Elissa's just as much of a bitch as ever._

Alistair straightened up. "Yesh, love?"

Elissa peaked an eyebrow. "Starkhaven? Why are we hosting a guest from the Free Marches?" Her voice oozed disdain.

"Oh, he'sh jusht an ol' friend rollin’ through, Ellie. He ushed t'be in the Chantry here b'fore I got conscripted into the Wardens," Alistair mumbled, casting a sidelong glance towards Sebastian, who wisely picked up on the ruse.  _Don't mention the treaty of support. Got it._

Sebastian bowed deeply towards Elissa. "Yes, Your Highness. Alistair and I used to be quite close."  _I love how she's pretending to not know me. Obviously Alistair didn't talk about me much to her…either that or she's been keeping up a helluva ruse for years._

"Well, why have I never heard of you then? Alistair tells me everything," Elissa shot back. As soon as the words left her mouth, a flashback to the Ferelden Archery Tournament some years prior hit her like a hammer.  _Holy Maker…Alistair was there…the first to congratulate Sebastian when he won. And he's been babbling on about his old buddy 'Seb' for years. How did I never make that connection before?_

_Oh, I'm pretty sure I haven't told you everything, my dear. "_ I'm shure I have, dear. Shuuuure of it. But you know I dishlike talking 'bout m’ time in th’ Chantry. Sebashun here was 'bout the only good part of it," Alistair fibbed.

Elissa folded her arms across her chest. "So…why is he here?"  _I need to get this ass out of my house before he opens his wicked mouth and ruins everything!_

Sebastian broke in gently, looking very deliberately at Elissa. "Can't a friend visit another friend? Does there need to be a reason?"  _Oh, this is going to be a delightful visit_ .

Elissa sighed, eager to get away from the men before either she or Sebastian slipped up and had to fully disclose the nature of their prior encounters. "I suppose not. Alistair, you have an early meeting. You should think about getting to bed." She turned and left the men standing there.

Once she was out of earshot, Alistair and Sebastian let out sighs of relief.

Sebastian looked over at Alistair. "You're not going to tell her about the treaty, are you?" he asked dubiously.

Alistair's eyes flew wide. "Maker, no! I'm the King, not her. I don't have to get her approval for everything, you know."

"She'll have your balls if she finds out, won't she?" Sebastian smiled smugly.

"You know it," Alistair muttered as he led Sebastian to his room for the night.

 

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Denerim Palace, 11 th of Wintermarch, 9:32 Dragon…_ **

“What are your plans this morning, Sebastian?” Richard asked, with an uncharacteristic waver in his voice.

“Hmm…let’s see…I believe Alistair wanted to discuss the terms of our treaty in further detail. Why?”

“N-no reason…well, um…I just need to take care of some unfinished business while we’re in Denerim, and the sooner, the better. If you’ll be with Alistair, you should be safe. I should be back soon,” Richard blurted as he pulled a thick woolen cloak over his black leathers. He hurried out of the room before Sebastian could say anything else.

The Seeker rushed down the stone staircase as quickly as he could without drawing unwanted attention. He strode through the Great Hall, head down, ignoring the commotion around him. His pace quickened as he walked the chilly streets of Denerim, winding his way through the tangled streets towards the city center.

Richard’s heart sank as he spotted the Cathedral. Once a grand testament to the glory of the Maker, it had suffered major damage during the Battle of Denerim last year. Scorch marks from the fires that had ravaged the city center scarred the stone exterior. Sections of the roof were covered with hastily-laid thatch to keep the building somewhat warm for the winter. Most of the ornate stained glass panels had shattered and were boarded up. An entire wing—the clergy quarters—had completely collapsed. Richard swallowed hard. _If we hadn’t been reassigned…if we’d stayed in Denerim…that’s where Sebastian slept!_ He cautiously approached the charred double doors, noting the lack of Templar guards outside.

Inside the Cathedral, candlelight illuminated the stacks of debris that were piled along the walls, blocking the few windows that had survived the chaos. Cots and bedrolls took up most of the open space, with a narrow aisle cutting through the center. The ostentatious display of Chantry power now served as a shelter and clinic for the people of Denerim. The remaining clergy milled about in tattered vestments, attending to the sick and injured while a young bard wandered from bed to bed, playing his lute and singing the praises of the Hero of Ferelden.

Richard was about to approach one of the nearby Sisters when he finally saw Grand Cleric Lynne. She was near the altar, speaking to a small boy while leaning heavily on a walking stick. He watched, mesmerized, as she smiled and stroked the boy’s hair before limping away. Richard snapped out of his reverie and trotted towards her.

“Grand Cleric!”

The tall, slender brunette stopped in her tracks and whipped her head towards the speaker, narrowing her eyes when she spotted the Seeker. “Seeker,” she said crisply in an Orlesian accent, which had been softened by her years in Denerim. “To what do I owe this visit? Am I to harbor another fugitive for Her Perfection?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort. I-I…can we go somewhere private?”

Lynne’s harsh glare intensified. “Very well. Come. We shall speak in my office.” She led the way, with Richard following dutifully. They entered her office and she locked the door behind them. The office had been oppressive enough before the Blight, but now it felt like a prison.

“What is it?” Lynne asked pointedly, limping over to the leather chair behind her desk. She lifted her robes enough to reveal a badly-wounded left leg. The rags were soaked with a sulfurous-smelling poultice, and Lynne grimaced as she gingerly placed her left foot on a stool.

Richard watched in concern. “Are you alright? That looks to be a nasty wound.”

Lynne exhaled slowly, as if willing the pain to subside. “The physic says as long as I keep the poultice fresh and stay off the leg as much as I can, it should heal. I’ll always need the cane, but that’s a far better alternative to being the Archdemon’s lunch. But my leg isn’t why you’re here.”

Richard let out a huge breath. “No, it’s not. Look, Lynne, I…I should have said something sooner, when Sebastian was under your care, but I did my best not to—I was…honoring your request.” He pulled a note from a hidden pocket inside his leather doublet. The paper was old and cracking along the lines where Richard had unfolded and refolded it dozens of times over the years.  He gently unfurled the paper yet again and cleared his throat. “You said—and I quote—‘Do not ever speak of this, of me, or _to_ me for as long as we both shall live.’” He looked up from the paper with shining eyes. “But when I heard that the Blight had come to Denerim…I…I thought the unthinkable. When Elthina said you’d survived…I had to come. I simply cannot lose y--.”

“You lost me in Val Royeaux, or have you conveniently forgotten why I was banished from my homeland?” Lynne interrupted brusquely.

“Of course I haven’t forgotten! It haunts me still! But you never gave me a chance—“

“I gave you plenty of chances, Richard Kendrick, and all I ever got in return was heartbreak. Forced into Sisterhood, then excluded from promotion and banished from Orlais…my father died last year, did you know that?”

Richard shook his head, unable to meet her furious glare.

“I couldn’t even attend his funeral, Richard, because it was in Orlais.” She threw up her hands in frustration and sighed. “Every time we meet, something else happens to ruin what little of a life I have, but you were rewarded for betraying me and it’s just not fair!”

“Betraying you? How did I betray you?”

“You sold us out to the Lord Seeker! Or have you got your head so far up your own arse that you forgot?”

“He caught us making love! How could we possibly have denied it? And, as I recall, you certainly did your fair share of selling out, lying to the Divine as you did. Thank the Maker the Lord Seeker _had_ caught us, or my head would have been atop a spike by the end of that day!” Richard ran a furious hand through his golden brown locks as he paced. He stopped and slammed his palms down on Lynne’s desk, startling her. “You know what? _Yes!_ I admit it! I _wanted_ to get caught. I _intentionally_ told the Lord Seeker about us, but I _vigorously_ deny it was to hurt you.”

Lynne’s jaw dropped and she sat silent for several moments. Finally, with tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, she whispered, “What possible reason would you have to shame me so, Richard?”

Richard crossed behind her desk, kneeling down beside Lynne. “I wanted us—well, you at least—expelled from the Chantry.”

Lynne recoiled at the explanation. “What? Why would you ever want such a thing?”

Richard fumbled in his breast pocket once again, producing a tiny worn box. He set it on the desk. “Go ahead. Open it.”

The Grand Cleric looked down at her former lover skeptically before she pulled the top of the box off. Inside were two golden bands, the smaller of the two bearing a tiny diamond chip. She covered her gaping mouth with one hand as she stared at the jewelry.

“I was desperate to make you my wife, but you were bound by your vows to remain chaste and unmarried. I wasn’t. I knew I would never have been able to convince you to leave the Chantry, so I concocted a plan to get you expelled so we could lead that quiet country life we always talked about. I never thought the Divine would be so… _lenient_ in light of our confessions,” Richard explained quietly.

Tears finally streamed down Lynne’s face as she continued to stare at the wedding rings, awestruck. She finally came to her senses, swiping at her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her hand. “You’ve been carrying these…and my letter…all this time?”

“All this time,” Richard muttered, sniffling hard.

“Richard, if you’d only told me…I’d have left for you. I’m so sorry I lied.”

Richard wiped away an errant tear and stood, tugging his leather chestplate back into place as he walked back around to the front of Lynne’s desk. “Well, it’s too late now. What’s done is done and now we’re both bound by duty.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I was forced to take a vow of chastity as well. It was part of my current assignment. But just know…there never was, and never will be, anyone but you. You can do what you like with the rings—sell them, melt them down, give them away,” Richard said dismissively. “I figured with as much hatred as you have for me now, disposing of these would be easy. Any coin you might get for these is the very least I owe you.”

Lynne stared at the rings. “And what of the letter?”

“What of it?”

Lynne looked up with a prim smile. “May I see it? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what I wrote.”

“Certainly,” Richard said as he offered the yellowed bundle.

Lynne took the note and nodded politely as she stood, limping across the room to the blazing fireplace. She scanned the note, shaking her head at her younger self, and tossed it into the flames with a flourish. She walked to the door, poking her head outside and speaking to someone. She then returned to Richard, striking her hands as if ridding them of dirt. Picking up the jewelry box, she plucked the plain ring from it and slid the band around Richard’s left ring finger.

“What are you doing?”

“We may never be together as we dreamed, Richard, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t bound forever.”

Richard looked at Lynne quizzically. “I…I must admit I’m at a loss. What do you mean?”

Lynne slid the diamond ring on her finger and sighed. “There were other--” A knock on the door prevented the Grand Cleric from finishing. A Sister walked in, leading a young boy by the hand. Richard recognized him as the same boy Lynne had been speaking to near the altar. “Leave us,” Lynne barked at the Sister. She bowed politely and left the room.

Lynne waited several moments as the Sister’s footsteps grew ever-softer, until they finally vanished. She eased into a chair by the fire, beckoning the boy to her side. Wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders, Lynne gazed lovingly at the boy. “Richard…this is my darling son, Tristan. Tristan, this is…your father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken longer than anticipated to get this chapter up. It should have been simple, given it's largely taken from a cross-ref chapter in Hawke's Journal, but I've been apartment hunting and moving and job hunting, all of which have taken their tolls on me. Plus, we have some huge game-changers happening in this chapter plus the next few, and a tiny part of me is still nervous about how they will all be received. Thank you all again for bearing with my totally random update schedule. I'm trying to even it out, but at this point I'm happy to get chapters posted when I can. <3


	11. The Ties that Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Richard arrive in Ostwick to visit his aunt, Lady Aslyn Trevelyan.

**_Ostwick, 8 th of Drakonis, 9:32 Dragon…_ **

Sunlight streamed through budding tree branches overhead as Sebastian and Richard held their horses in a rhythmic trot. Bright green blades of grass poked through the smattering of snow that had yet to melt, but that wouldn’t take long with the unusually warm spring that the people of Ostwick were enjoying.

Sebastian sucked in a deep breath of the sweet spring air and exhaled slowly, a smile creeping across his face. He turned to Richard, who stared at the looming castle ahead. “Are you certain you’re comfortable being away from Denerim, now that…you know…”

Richard’s gaze never left the castle. “Lynne gave me leave to perform my duty, so long as I make the effort to return to Denerim as often as I am able.” He paused, looking down at the reins in his hands wistfully. “She really has done a remarkable job raising Tristan on her own…he’s well-mannered, sharp as a tack…”

“You know, I still can’t picture you as a father, even after I saw how much he resembles you,” Sebastian said with a chuckle.

Richard cast a sidelong glance at the prince. “Me either. Yet…it’s a comfort, knowing the Kendrick line will live on,” he admitted with a smile.

The sound of hooves on the ancient drawbridge thundered in Sebastian’s ears as he and Richard crossed the moat surrounding Castle Trevelyan. Once inside the courtyard, the pair dismounted, handing their respective mounts’ reins to a young stablehand. A stout man in pristine armor rushed down the stairs towards Sebastian and Richard.

“Prince Sebastian, I presume,” the guardsman said as he bowed deeply towards Richard.

Richard smirked and tipped his head towards Sebastian with a wink. Flush with embarrassment, the guardsman bowed his head sheepishly as he offered his obeisance to the correct man.

“I understand, I barely look old enough to be off the teat,” Sebastian muttered under his breath. _That’s it. No more shaving. I’m too baby-faced to be taken seriously!_

The guardsman stammered. “No, it wasn’t—I mean, you look—er, _he_ looked--“

“It’s fine,” Sebastian said with a friendly smile. “Is Lady Trevelyan here?”

“Oh—oh yes, Your Highness! The Lady has been expecting you. Come.”

Sebastian and Richard rolled their eyes at each other behind the guardsman’s back as he led them up the carved staircase. A pair of stuffy, over-dressed guards opened the double doors to the sunlit main hall with a flourish. Sebastian took the lead and strode confidently down the worn crimson carpet runner, Richard hot on his heels. They reached the steps to the dais where an ancient head dining table sat empty and stopped.

“Don’t know why they’re acting so formal when the place looks like a barn on the inside,” Richard muttered just loud enough for Sebastian to hear.

The auburn-haired prince desperately tried to stifle a laugh. His lips were still quivering when a woman approached from a side chamber and made her way down the steps to greet her guests. Sebastian didn’t need an introduction to recognize Aslyn Trevelyan—she looked exactly like her twin sister, the late Andra Vael. Her long mahogany hair, sprinkled with silver strands and capped by a golden circlet, was woven into intricate braids that flowed down the back of her sage green gown. Her chocolate-colored eyes were framed by faint crow’s feet, and her laugh lines vanished as she grinned at her nephew. The grin quickly faded, however, as she stepped forward and pulled Sebastian into a tight hug.

Aslyn reached up to stroke Sebastian’s hair as she whispered in his ear. “Oh, Sebastian, my boy, I am so, so sorry. Your mother wanted you home so badly. She couldn’t have anticipated—“ She broke off, releasing her nephew so she could sweep away an errant tear and cleared her throat. “You’ve had a long journey, nephew. Come; let us take a meal in my private chambers so you can relax.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” Sebastian said hoarsely as he followed her out of the main hall, through a colonnade, and into the living area of the centuries-old castle. Unlike the clearly seldom-used main hall, the space was tastefully decorated and impeccably kept. Servants standing on scaffolding cleaned the intricately-carved wooden beams that spanned the width of the room, while others took advantage of the sunny day to tend the large overhead candelabras that were caked with layers of melted wax. The floor-to-ceiling tapestries bore an Antivan flair that was clearly influenced by his Aunt’s upbringing in Ansburg, which lay close to the border.

“I do hope you’ll stay for a few days, Sebastian,” Aslyn called over her shoulder as she ascended the staircase to the private apartments. “Do not think that I have forgotten your name day is in two days’ time!”

Sebastian smiled to himself. “Of course, dear Aunt. I haven’t seen you in ages! I’m not about to leave as quickly as I arrived, but I will not overstay my welcome.”

Aslyn stopped in front of a looming door, standing aside as the servants exited with empty serving trays. She shooed Sebastian and Richard inside. She hesitated before following the men inside, turning the lock to ensure their privacy. _Oh, my sweet nephew, you are every bit your mother and it’s nearly killing me._ She joined the pair, who stood expectantly beside their chairs. Richard helped the noble with her chair, and the trio sat at last.

Aslyn nibbled on a small pastry and sipped at her tea while the two men devoured their stew as quickly as possible while still minding their manners. She watched her nephew, marveling at how much he’d grown and her heart ached for her lost twin. “Now, your name day is in two days, Sebastian. I know it’s been ages since you’ve had a proper celebration of such a joyous event, so I took liberty to arrange for a ball in your honor. All of the nobility will be in attendance, and many of them have very beautiful, very _eligible_ daughters. I also figured it’s been years since you’ve worn anything other than your Chantry vestments or that… _lovely_ armor you’ve got on, so your uncle’s personal tailor will be here in an hour. I want you to have a full wardrobe before you leave.”

“Thank you, Aunt Aslyn. I will repay you as soon as I secure my throne, I swear it.”

Aslyn clucked her tongue. “Your gold is no good in Ostwick, Sebastian. This is your name day gift, and money is no object.”

“I…you know this is too much, Aunt, and were you anyone but kin, I would be obliged to refuse such an extravagant gift.”

Aslyn giggled. “Sometimes, my dear boy, money CAN buy happiness. Not often, but seeing that you’ve grown into such a fine man…well, perhaps I’m channeling your mother right now, but nothing would make me happier than seeing you in the finery you were born to wear.”

Sebastian’s eyes prickled with tears, and all he could manage was a weak smile and silent nod of thanks towards his aunt. After a few moments of reverent silence, he finally found his voice. “Where is Uncle Robert? I would very much like to thank him as well.”

“Ah, yes, I forget my manners in my old age. Your uncle is watching the guards as they train. His personal bodyguard had a nasty fall and can no longer serve, so a new man is needed. He will join us for supper.”

Having eaten the last of his stew, Richard dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and cleared his throat. “I could assist, if His Lordship would like,” he offered. “I have considerable experience, and it would allow you and Sebastian some private time to catch up.”

Aslyn smiled warmly, reaching over to clasp her delicate hand over Richard’s. “You wouldn’t mind? I know Robert has been wavering between two men. Your insight may settle this matter.”

“Not at all. It would be my pleasure. Now, if you would excuse me?”

“Of course. You’ll find him near the barracks. Go back towards the main hall, out the doors, and follow the sound of clanking swords,” Aslyn said as Richard rose and walked towards the door. “And Richard? Thank you…for everything.”

Richard gave a polite bow, and walked out of the room.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him,” Sebastian muttered. “I owe him everything. He will make sure Uncle picks the right man for the job.”

“He loves you like a son. I can see it in his eyes.”

“Aye, that he does. He continually saves me from myself. I can only hope to convince him to join me permanently once I leave the Chantry for good. He’s just found out that he’s a father, though, so it might prove difficult.”

****

**_oOoOoOo_ **

****

**_Ostwick, 10 th of Drakonis, 9:32 Dragon…_ **

“I just love how Aunt Aslyn is suddenly my matchmaker,” Sebastian groused as he fiddled with the buttons on his new midnight blue velvet doublet. “As if I couldn’t find a lass on my own.”

Richard bent over, checking that his boot daggers weren’t stuck in their sheaths. He stood upright again and waggled his finger at the prince. “You’ve never had problems finding _lasses_ , Sebastian. What you’ve had problems with is finding _women_ who are highborn. Your aunt means well, and you admitted you need to find a wife.”

“I think I might have found someone in Kirkwall, if only I’d had the chance to get to know her,” Sebastian muttered, not intending for Richard to hear him.

Richard balked. “Hawke? I don’t think she’s—“

Sebastian shot an icy glare over his shoulder. “I don’t care if she, or any other… _woman_ , is highborn. Father’s letter said to find someone who makes me happy, regardless.”

“But she’s a _mage_ ,” Richard hissed, tucking a vial of blade poison into his belt pouch. “No noble in their right mind marries magic into their line! If you want Starkhaven, you need the _right_ wife. You cannot afford a misstep here. Perhaps your romantic fantasies can be carried out in secret trysts, but as for the woman who will bear your children and be your Princess…I’m sorry, but I cannot let you make a choice that will ruin you.”

Sebastian stewed as he yanked a boar-hair brush through his auburn locks. Unable to let Richard’s words go, he finally wheeled around on his bodyguard, folding his arms angrily as he struggled to keep from being overheard. “Who do you think you are to lecture me on life choices? My father may be dead, but that doesn’t make me yours to order around. _Your_ son is back in Denerim, or have you already forgotten? My crown, my rules.”

“Not. Your. Crown. _YET_ ,” Richard countered. “My job is to keep you alive, and if you piss off too many people with your selfish decisions, you won’t have that precious crown for long. You must take a bride for breeding and politics, not pleasure. You want Hawke, or whoever tickles your pickle? Only as a mistress. That’s practically expected of a ruler, anyway.”

Sebastian said nothing as he gestured for the chamberman to open the door. He and Richard walked towards the ballroom in silence, their quick steps clicking crisply on the polished floor.

“Funny, you never once stopped my dalliances before my family was killed. Feeling guilty about your own?” Sebastian whispered, not wanting the guards surrounding them to hear him.

Richard chose to ignore the obvious attempt at raising his ire. “Those trysts never would have mattered. Your father was in the process of arranging your marriage when he died. _He_ understood the importance of a good alliance. It’s clear _you_ don’t.”

Sebastian was momentarily stunned by Richard’s revelation, but rolled his eyes and kept walking. Before long, the men had reached the door to the ballroom. As with every door in the castle, a high-strung guard performed his lone duty as he shoved the enormous studded oak doors open.

A plump, ruddy-faced man stood near the door, reading from an unfurled scroll. “His Royal Highness Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven, and his Champion, Ser Richard Kendrick of Cumberland!”

Sebastian and Richard bowed slightly as they acknowledged the crier. As they made their way further into the ballroom, Sebastian caught sight of a raven-haired girl, no older than fourteen, standing on the fringes of the crowd. She bobbed up and down as she stood on her tiptoes and hopped for a better look at the festivities. The girl’s violet eyes flew open in terror as she met Sebastian’s glance, and she dashed towards the safety of the colonnade behind her. Before Sebastian could react, Lady Aslyn gently grabbed his forearm.

“Nephew, blessed name day to you!”

“I still maintain that you are too kind, Aunt. Did you happen to see a young, black-haired girl running around? She was just over—“

“That’s Cerise,” Lady Aslyn said in a hushed tone. “She is my only child.”

“But why is she sneaking around at a ball in her own home?”

Aslyn sighed as she led Sebastian to a secluded corner. “She is sneaking around because she has… _magic_ ,” Aslyn spat, horrified. “Cerise cannot control herself, so I have had her locked away for months. The Templars will be here next week for her, so her father allowed her to attend the ball. I told her if she has even one… _outburst_ tonight, she’s going right back to her room. I pray the Circle has the ability to free her from this wretched curse.”

Sebastian’s jaw dropped. “Magic? How did magic get into your line?”

Aslyn shrugged. “I wish I knew. It must be in Robert’s blood. The Eberhardt line certainly does not carry such impurity in it. But enough about my difficulties, come. The Teyrn and his family are in attendance. His eldest daughter, Lady Tamsyn, has just turned eighteen and the Teyrn is desperate to secure a good marriage for her.”

Sebastian followed his aunt dutifully, expecting the worst as they approached as mismatched of a couple as he’d ever seen. The pair watched him approach, clearly sizing him up as he walked.

Aslyn curtsied before the pair. “Your Lordship, might I present Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven? Sebastian, this is Teyrn Conal Oswallt and his wife, Miranda,” Aslyn said proudly.

“A pleasure,” Sebastian said as he nodded respectfully.

Miranda Oswallt, statuesque yet plain in appearance, gave Sebastian a cool nod in return before re-assuming her haughty demeanor. The Teyrn was a short, stocky man with salt-and-pepper locks that were woven into a braid that extended halfway down his back. His thick beard was also braided, in a style that honored his great-great-grandfather’s dwarven roots. “The pleasure is mine, Prince Vael. I was terribly sorry to hear about your family. I enjoyed your father’s company immensely when he was last here. May I present my daughter, Tamsyn?”

A shy girl stepped out from behind the Teyrn. Instead of an ugly, awkward teen, however, Sebastian found Tamsyn was stunningly beautiful. Fiery curls tumbled over her shoulders, contrasting with her creamy skin. Tamsyn’s pale green eyes fixed on him as he bowed before her. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Tamsyn,” he said in his rich brogue as he fixed his aqua eyes on hers.

Tamsyn curtsied in return, smiling coyly, but remained silent.

Sebastian relaxed and smiled. “Would the Lady care for a dance?”

Tamsyn nodded once and offered her hand to Sebastian. He took it tenderly, leading his partner into the center of the dancing. The music was one of his mother’s favorite songs—a slow waltz. _She used to hum this all the time._ Sebastian led the dance capably, careful to mind his hand placement on the girl’s back. _Too low, and people will talk. Too high, and the Teyrn will think I’m not interested._

“My father has been trying to marry me off since I was a child,” Tamsyn whispered. “You’re the first one I’ve met that isn’t completely revolting. I believe we are off to a good start.”

“Perhaps,” Sebastian replied with a chuckle. “I hope I continue to not be revolting.”

The music faded away, and Sebastian bowed deeply to his partner before offering his arm. They returned to where the Teyrn, Teyrna, and Aslyn stood expectantly. The Teyrn appeared delighted by his daughter’s reaction. He pulled Sebastian aside. “I believe she likes you. It’s about bloody time! She’s met young men from cities all over the Free Marches, but hasn’t smiled at anyone the way she smiled at you. If you are willing to seal this deal, I can certainly make it very favorable for you, Your Highness.”

 _Why is he in such a hurry to draw up the marriage contract?_ “It is certainly worth considering, Your Lordship,” Sebastian replied. “But perhaps I am unorthodox in insisting on getting to know the Lady Tamsyn before I agree to any contract.”

A fleeting look of disappointment washed quickly over the Teyrn’s face. “Of course, Your Highness. After all, you are both young, and _eternity_ is a terribly long time to spend with someone you dislike. Why don’t you come to the palace in the morning for a hunt? Tamsyn is a skilled huntress.”

“That sounds delightful, Your Lordship,” Sebastian replied before stepping back to address the group. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m quite tired. I shall take my leave for the evening. I look forward to our hunt in the morning, Teyrn Oswallt. And please, Ser Richard, stay and enjoy the party.” He spun on his feet and strode confidently out of the ballroom.

Instead of turning right, as if to return to his guest apartment, Sebastian turned to the left. He was curious to see if he could find where his cousin had run off to. He meandered through the twisting corridors for a few minutes before a _PSSSSST!_ caught his attention. He stopped in his tracks, looking for the source of the sound.

“Over here,” a youthful voice whispered.

Sebastian turned to his left and stepped into a darkened corridor. Suddenly, a bright flame erupted in the pitch black. Cerise Trevelyan stood in the furthest corner, watching Sebastian with a steady, cautious gaze.

“I know your bodyguard is a Seeker, Cousin Sebastian. I saw the sigil on the pommel of his daggers. Is he with you?” Cerise asked, voice trembling.

Sebastian kept a respectful distance as he watched the terrified girl. “Richard is still in the main hall. I only want to say hello to you. Nothing more.”

Cerise took a step backwards. “But you know what I am. Surely you must. I saw you talking to Mother. I saw the look of disgust. She only reserves that look for me, you know. Calls me her secret shame, her biggest mistake.”

Sebastian stepped closer. “Cerise, I—“

The young mage held up a hand. “Not too close! When I think about Mother and how angry she makes me, it’s hard to hold on to this fireball.”

Sebastian held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, this is a new doublet. I’m not about to see it burn, so what you say goes,” he said with a light chuckle. Cerise flashed an awkward smile in return. “How do you do that, by the way? I know a mage, but I’ve never seen her do…er…make…um…”

“Cast spells? I just think really hard about what I want to do,” Cerise explained. She took a deep breath, extinguished the ball of flame in her hands, and grabbed an unlit torch from the wall sconce behind her. “Like flame. I picture the flame in my hands, that I am its master. Then I feel the flame welling up inside of me until I just snap my fingers and _POOF!_ ” She snapped her fingers, lighting the torch. “I know, it’s nothing much, but I’m hoping the Circle can teach me how to cast stronger spells.”

Sebastian leaned against the brick wall. “But the Circle is part of the Chantry. Chantry doctrine states that mages like you are—“

Cerise, visibly relaxed now, put the lit torch back in its sconce, illuminating the corridor. “ _Maleficar_. I know. But the alternatives are staying here, locked away in my room forever, or…the Templars don’t treat apostates kindly, I’ve heard. No. Better to learn how to manage my curse, so I don’t hurt others,” she said, as if mimicking what she’d been told.

Sebastian was taken aback by Cerise’s honesty. He furrowed his brow. “Is that how you see yourself? Cursed?”

Cerise shook her head softly as she sat on a crate. “No…not really…but…it’s hard to see yourself any other way when it’s all you’re told you are. And I’m not the only one who feels this way. I’ve worked with apostates, back before Mother found out about my magic. I was so scared, Sebastian. I sneezed and started fires! I couldn’t control it! So, I went to the potion maker in the village. He introduced me to a group of mages that had escaped from a Circle. I snuck them honeycakes from our kitchens and, in return, they taught me the basics of how to control my magic. They told me some terrible stories about the Circle…how they were always told they were a mistake, that their magic was a curse…I would have run away with them, but I don’t know…I don’t think I can live my life constantly looking over my shoulder.”

Sebastian’s heart sank as he pictured a young Aspasia Hawke running from Templars, scared out of her mind. “How old are you, Cerise?”

“Twelve.”

“Do you know anything else of the Circle, besides the horror stories? What kind of life will you have?”

“I won’t have any contact with family. The Circle will be my new family. No marriage. No babies.”

Sebastian took a step back, stunned. “I…I had no idea mages were treated so…”

“Inhumanely? You know what the last thing I purposely set on fire was? My baby doll. Figured I had no need for it, since I’ll never be having a real one,” Cerise muttered, wiping at the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “All I ever wanted was to bear sons for my future husband, but when my magic emerged, Father had to cancel the marriage contract. Mother refuses to lay with him to make a son…she blames him for my magic and is terrified of bearing the shame of another cursed child. The Trevelyan line will end with my death.” She dissolved into shuddering sobs.

Sebastian cautiously stepped forward. He held his arms open to offer a hug. The young mage nodded, and Sebastian crouched down, wrapping his arms around the crying girl. “Cerise, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Me too,” the young mage whispered into his doublet. “You’re gonna take back your crown, right?”

Sebastian nodded.

“Promise me one thing, a favor to your tragic cousin.”

Sebastian let his cousin go, holding her by the shoulders as he gazed earnestly into her violet eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

“Promise me that, as Prince of Starkhaven, you will treat mages as people, not cursed beasts.”

Sebastian nodded resolutely. “I will, for you, Cerise. Maker guide you, sweet cousin.” He planted a gentle kiss on her raven hair and stood.

“And be nice to your mage friend,” Cerise said with a forced laugh. “She probably beats herself up over her magic more than you’ll ever know.”

“If I ever see her again, I definitely will,” Sebastian said with a hopeful smile.

****

**_oOoOoOo_ **

****

In the guest room, Sebastian and Richard clinked small glasses of Antivan brandy as they stood in front of the fire. Sebastian debated whether or not to tell Richard about his encounter with Cerise, but decided against it. _I should tell Richard, but Cerise was terrified that he might have been with me. What can a Seeker do to a mage that had her so scared? I cannot believe mages are treated so poorly by the Circle. And under the Chantry’s watch! I wonder if Aspasia also sees herself as cursed? I certainly hope I do get to see her again. Maybe I’ll ask her someday._

Richard’s voice broke Sebastian’s reverie. “Her Ladyship is quite beautiful, Sebastian. Aren’t you glad I strong-armed you into going to the ball?”

“Yes, I suppose. She’s just…quiet. I hope she has more to say during the hunt tomorrow. And the Teyrn was awfully quick to push for a contract.”

“He was? I was just out of earshot. What did he say? What did _you_ say?”

“He said he would make it...very favorable. I merely said I wanted to get to know the Lady before I agree to anything.”

“Smart. Perhaps we should stay for an extended time, to let you get to know her?”

“Yes. Let us plan to stay for a month, maybe more if all goes well. I should know by then whether she will be suitable or not, and the warmer weather will make traveling on the Minanter more pleasant. By the way, are you sure you’re alright sleeping on that cot, Richard? Aunt Aslyn said you could have the room next door, if you want a proper bed.”

“I’m fine. I’m just a bit more cautious than usual because I’m your only guardian, and we’re in a strange place.”

“I’m sure my aunt and uncle have taken every precaution—“

“Call it intuition, maybe call it insanity. I just feel better being as close as I can when we are not locked inside the lofty walls of the Kirkwall Chantry.”

“Fair enough. Good night, Richard,” Sebastian muttered as he crawled into the four-poster bed.

“Good night, Sebastian,” Richard replied. He waited until he heard Sebastian start to snore lightly, and then eased himself off of the cot. He silently approached the desk in the far corner of the room, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper and a quill. He wrote slowly, so as to not wake Sebastian.

_R.M.:_

_Plans delayed. Potential match in Ostwick. Do not return to the nest. Will remain with Lady T until further notice._

_\--R.K._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've long headcanoned that Sebastian would have relations in Ostwick and that he would be distantly related to the Inquisitor. BioWare's backstory for the human Inquisitor as an Ostwick noble was just too perfect!


	12. The Fires that Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian resists commitment. Johane makes a risky decision. An old friend is the bearer of bad news.

**_Ostwick, 11th of Drakonis, 9:32 Dragon..._ **

The spring sun had already begun its descent, bathing the Great Hall of Castle Trevelyan in warm golden light as Sebastian, Lord Trevelyan, Teyrn Oswallt, Richard, and Tamsyn returned from a vigorous deer hunt. Tamsyn sauntered up the grand marble staircase, pulling off her gloves one finger at a time as she basked in self-satisfaction. Behind her, her father’s face reddened with anger as he watched his daughter gloat.

Teyrn Oswallt rushed to Sebastian’s side. “Once again, I’m so sorry for how the hunt transpired, Your Highness,” he whispered.

Sebastian, gazing at the young lady ahead of him, shook his head as if forcing himself out of a daze. “Tamsyn won the hunt fair and square, just as it should have been. Let us hope the cooks have made her victory taste even sweeter.” He grinned and put a friendly hand on the Teyrn’s shoulder.

The Teyrn had no choice but to nod begrudgingly.

Lord Trevelyan caught up with the men. “I’m sure they will, but we won’t be having the venison tonight--there’s not enough time for the cooks to prepare it. We’re having one of my favorites, fish-and-egg pie.”

Sebastian stopped at the top of the stairs. “Fish-and-egg pie? I haven’t had that in years! I wasn’t aware that people outside of Starkhaven developed a taste for it.”

“It's my fault. I used to do a lot of business in Starkhaven in my youth and found myself craving it when I came home. We make ours a little differently, with salted sea cod rather than fresh river trout. First, we soak the cod for a day or two to get the salt down. Then we add plenty of cream, eggs, dill, and tomatoes, with some shaved cheese on the top. _This_ pie makes men out of boys! Came up with the recipe myself,” Teyrn Oswallt bragged as he slapped Sebastian firmly on the back.

“Sounds delicious, and I’m very much looking forward to eating it. Please excuse me, but I would like to get out of these muddy clothes and have a bath before dinner,” Sebastian said politely to the Teyrn and his uncle as he turned towards the corridor to his room. _Men out of boys? I’m very much a man, thank you._

About an hour later, Sebastian and Richard descended the grand staircase and made their way to the Trevelyans’ private dining room. They could hear muffled voices shouting back and forth in the adjacent study. They paused to listen, pressing themselves against the door.

 

_“I told you to let Vael win! How do you ever expect to get a husband if you’re forever cuckolding your suitors?”_

_“Cuckolding? I don’t think that word means what you think it does, Father. Besides, how am I to gain any respect from him if I let him win?”_

_“Women don’t gain respect, they give it!”_

_“This isn’t the Blessed Age anymore. Men want women who can hold their own, not fragile dolls! The bloody Hero of Ferelden is a woman!”_

_“Miranda, talk some sense into the girl. Maker knows I’ve tried!”_

_“Tamsyn, please...this isn’t how I raised you--”_

_“You didn’t raise me, Mother, our nurses and tutors did. You got what you paid for. Sebastian will take me as I am, or walk away, and I am perfectly fine with that.”_

 

Footsteps grew closer, and Richard and Sebastian hurriedly backed away from the door, ducking behind a large column. Tamsyn stormed out of the study and into the dining room, with her desperate parents scurrying behind. The Seeker glanced at Sebastian with a bemused smile.

“For the record, I’m perfectly fine with walking away, but I’m still giving this a chance, even if it takes a while for me to make up my mind,” Sebastian whispered. “I’m intrigued by her. Besides, we aren’t on a pressing schedule, and it is so lovely being around family.”

Richard shrugged. “Fair enough. Let’s eat.” _This match is going to either be perfect or perfectly horrible._

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

__

_**Starkhaven, 15th of Bloomingtide, 9:32 Dragon…** _

Johane Harimann settled into her plush chair and shuffled through the stacks of papers that needed her attention. _Such is the price of power. Still, it was lovely to spend the winter in Kirkwall._ She sighed and opened a drawer in the gilded desk, pulling out a bottle of Antivan brandy. After pouring herself a generous measure, Johane took a lazy sip, letting the liquor warm her mouth.

The study door opened, breaking her reverie. Brett Harimann strode through, carefully locking the door behind him. He approached, bowing his head reverently. “Lady Harimann, much has been happening in Starkhaven in your absence--”

Johane rolled her eyes. “Brett, there’s nobody else here. Drop the formalities.”

Brett sheepishly took the chair opposite her. “Uh, right. Sorry, Mother. As I was saying, there has been a lot going on. Due to...miscalculations, we are suffering from a food shortage.”

Johane took a swig of brandy. “I told you not to convert so damn much grain to whiskey, you idiot. I swear, you’re as thick as your father.”

Brett leaned back in his chair, folding his arms defensively. “Well, this _idiot_ managed to triple the gold in Starkhaven’s coffers, which means triple the gold in your coffers, thank you very much. That said, with the famine has come a slight increase in crime--”

Johane, who had tuned her son out as she read one of the dozens of letters on her desk, paused, arching a slim silver eyebrow as she glared at him over the parchment. “Define _slight increase_ , Brett.”

“We’ve executed 6 people so far this month for theft,” Brett said quietly.

Johane slammed the paper down on her desk. “Maker’s breath! Why didn’t you write me?”

“I...I didn’t think you’d be gone so long! I’ve been doing the best I can!”

Johane shook her head. She drained her brandy, refilled the glass, and poured another for Brett. “You have _some_ \--ugh, just drink this. We could sit here and blame you all day, but that does nothing to curb the problems we’re facing. We need food, and fast. Have you tried negotiating for any?” In one fluid motion, she quickly scribbled a signature on one of the papers on her desk and sanded the ink before setting it aside.

Brett took a tiny sip of liquor, coughing slightly at the burn of it as he watched his mother sign paper after paper with breathtaking efficiency. “With the long winter, nobody is willing to give up a single crumb. Most cities in the Marches are low on stores now.”

Johane loosed an exasperated huff. “Well, if they won’t share, then the Prince has no option but to assert his power and take what he needs to ensure the survival of his people.”

Brett wrinkled his face in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Johane leaned forward, beckoning her son closer. “Brett, my dear, the Minanter teems with trading vessels every day,” she said, her words hushed. “Some of those trade ships are loaded with food stores. Intercept a few and seize the contents.”

Brett recoiled in horror. “ _Steal cargo_? We’re raiders now? How are we supposed to get away with that?”

Johane rolled her eyes at her son’s histrionics and abruptly stood, stomping over to Brett and smacking the back of his head. “Quiet, you fool! Do I have to explain everything? I’ll make up some horseshit document about tariffs to wave around. You intercept ships and demand to see their permits. When the captains can’t produce anything, seize the cargo. Raiding is for peasants. This is exercising our sovereignty. Got it?”

Brett soothed the back of his head as he glared at Johane. “Yes, Mother. Right away, Mother.”

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

__

_**Ostwick, 3rd of Justinian, 9:32 Dragon…** _

The rhythmic sounds of plucked bowstrings and satisfying _thunks_ as arrows found their targets filled the sweet summery air outside of Castle Trevelyan’s armory. Sebastian paced behind the Lord’s archers, frowning at the slightest of errors. He stopped, seizing one man by the shoulders.

“No, Winthrop. Speed is nothing without good form. Slow down, aim carefully, then fire. The more you do it, the faster and more accurate you will become.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you,” the young man muttered. He shakily raised his bow and aimed carefully. The shot hit the target, unlike the dozens of arrows scattered on the ground around it.

“Better. Keep at it.”

Sebastian resumed pacing, focusing so intently on his uncle’s men that he didn’t notice the _slink_ of chain mail armor approaching fast behind him until it was nearly too late. He spun around, pulling his daggers in a fluid motion, as Richard and others had taught him.

“Ryon!” Sebastian gasped as he quickly sheathed his blades. He offered his right hand, and the former captain took it, both men leaning in for a quick hug as Richard looked on.

Ryon leaned back to inspect the young man and smiled, laugh lines and crow’s feet criss-crossing his sun-weathered face. “Sebastian, you’re looking well. The fresh Ostwick air agrees with you. What’s with the--?” He trailed off, stroking an imaginary beard.

“His Highness decided he needed to look older. But it’s a good look for him, as is love, I suppose,” Richard teased.

Sebastian, who had been scratching self-consciously at his emerging scruff, gave the Seeker a playful shove. “Hush, you.” He turned towards the aging warrior. What are you doing here, Ryon? I thought you were to meet us south of Starkhaven, ahead of our arrival. We haven’t even begun to talk of leaving here.”

Ryon grimaced. “That’s precisely why I’ve come. We need to begin those talks right now. I’m surprised you haven’t heard the news...although your Aunt may be keeping it from you.”

Sebastian cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “Word of what? What’s happened?”

Ryon looked around for prying eyes and ears. Dissatisfied, he snuffed and flicked his eyes towards a tree in the far corner of the yard. The three men sauntered over, surreptitiously watching for spies. Once satisfied that nobody could hear them, Ryon started to speak in a hushed tone. “Starkhaven is in chaos. The dipshit your cousin appointed as Seneschal managed to waste nearly all of the principality’s food stores. With the long winter, people began to starve. Starving people turn to desperate measures and...well...your cousin’s executed nearly one hundred people for theft since Satinalia.”

“Maker, have mercy!” Sebastian blurted, quickly clamping a hand over his mouth. Richard quickly glanced around, sighing in relief as he noted that nobody seemed to have heard the outburst.

Ryon pressed his lips into a thin line before continuing. “That’s not the worst of it. Your cousin gave leave to his Seneschal to begin seizing trade vessels for their cargo, presumably to ease the famine until this year’s harvest is taken. As you might expect, the other principalities are in an uproar. They’ve targeted Tantervale pretty hard.”

Agitated, Sebastian began to pace, twisting a hand in his auburn locks. He paused. “How can...what am I supposed to do? This is exactly why--”

“Might I suggest something,” Ryon interrupted, sensing an impending meltdown.

Sebastian let out a long breath. “Of course, Ryon. Your advice is invaluable.”

“Let us sit on this information. The cards will play out as the Maker intends. This isn’t the time for political upheaval.”

Richard stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm...I was going to suggest that Sebastian could be just what Starkhaven needs to avert disaster, but I see your point.”

“We could also use this in our negotiations with the Teyrn,” Ryon offered.

Sebastian shook his head vigorously, pooh-poohing the suggestion. “If you’re talking about marriage contracts, as I made it clear to Richard...I’m not ready to do that.”

“Sebastian, our hand may be forced in order to save Starkhaven,” Ryon implored. “Besides, from what Richard tells me, Tamsyn is lovely. I don’t think you’ll do better than the daughter of a rising power in the Marches.”

Sebastian sighed and nodded reluctantly. “I...I know. Tamsyn is...wonderful. Just...a bit too wonderful, if you get my drift,” he muttered.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Sebastian plucked a vivid green leaf from the tree, twirling it and staring at the veining as he spoke. “There’s something about her, about the way she interacts with me, that seems... I just can’t place it. It just feels odd.”

Richard looked stunned. “What are you suggesting?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I’m not really _suggesting_ anything, except that she might not want to marry me if I weren’t taking the throne. I believe she and I would be friendly, but nothing more.”

Ryon rolled his eyes. _Here we go again. The boy will never understand the concept of noble marriages. He will forever chase some idyllic notion of love._ “Are you certain, or are you projecting the past onto your present?”

“Colleen has been gone for a long time, Ryon. I made peace with her and Robbie MacSwain when I killed him,” Sebastian retorted with a scowl.

Ryon softened, realizing he’d made a harsh accusation. “Very well. I won’t force your hand, Sebastian, but I will urge you to consider your greater duties.”

“Let’s just see what Goran does. That will give me a bit more time to decide if Tamsyn is the woman I want to marry,” Sebastian said with a wave of his hand before storming off.

As soon as Sebastian was out of earshot, Richard leaned in close to the grizzled warrior. “Ryon, Sebastian may be onto something about Tamsyn. I’ve been tracking her movements as best I can, and I have reason to believe she is engaging in...how shall I say...delights of the flesh.”

Ryon ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Oh, that’s just fantastic. How did--”

“I’ve never seen a lass with such an affinity for those weird collar-style necklaces, especially when they’re not in fashion here. She’s covering something. Also, one of her maids showed me a peculiar item she found in Tamsyn’s bedchamber--some manner of prophylactic made of sheep’s skin,” Richard said coolly.

Ryon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit. Do you suppose she’ll stop once they’re betrothed?”

“Do we dare risk it? You know Sebastian won’t react well, and royal divorces are...well, they just don’t happen. The Divine will never grant it. He’d have to charge her with treason, try her, _execute_ her…” Richard shuddered.

“You’re right. It’d be a diplomatic nightmare, to say nothing of the impact on his reputation with the people. What do you suggest we do?” _I swear, the boy has the absolute worst luck._

Richard smirked, his eyes dancing devilishly. “The Teyrn is desperate for Sebastian to marry Tamsyn, and desperate men do stupid things. We need this charade to end before they marry, that much is certain, but perhaps we could do so in a way that still benefits us. Come, we have much to discuss.”

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

__

_**Starkhaven, 10th of Solace, 9:32 Dragon…** _

 

_Prince Vael:_

_You have unlawfully seized twenty of my trade vessels since mid-Bloomingtide. I have given you numerous chances to make my principality whole for its losses, which you have ignored._

_Tantervale has not forgotten that it was your uncle who got my beloved Mara killed, which makes your recent actions all the more egregious. As of this moment, I declare Starkhaven a sworn enemy of Tantervale. Your fumbling efforts at a blockade did not keep my soldiers from honing their skills._

_I look forward to donning the lion crown soon._

_Lord Chancellor Feargus Fitzpatrick_

 

“Well...shit,” Johane muttered. That damned demon! She promised me more power!

Brett snatched the letter from Johane’s hand. He scanned it, his face blanching as he read the last sentence. “Do you really think we can fix this? Where are we going to come up with the gold to repay him?”

Johane took the letter back, tearing it into pieces before tossing them into the roaring fireplace. “We’re going back to Kirkwall while the situation cools down.”

Brett’s eyes widened in horror. “You’d leave Goran alone?”

Johane smoothed a hand over her son’s dark hair. “I’d set this entire principality on fire to keep my children safe, son. Goran will be fine. I’m leaving more than enough of my personal fortune to fix this. Fitzpatrick will come at him with a list of demands. Goran will give in, hand over the gold, that arsehole will go back to Tantervale, we come back, and we all live happily ever after. Not a drop of blood shed.”

Brett looked at his mother skeptically. “So if we’re going to give in, why do we have to leave? We can resolve this before Fitzpatrick sends his soldiers!”

“You can’t be that dense, Brett,” Johane said with a sigh. “Do you honestly believe that his men aren’t already on the march? Once the people see Tantervale’s soldiers on our doorstep, _we_ are as good as dead,” she explained, gesturing towards Brett and herself. _I’ll get more power from Allure, then I can sway the people to accept us again._

“But I’m Seneschal. I have to be here.”

Johane poured on the charm. “And you _will_ be here, son, just not right now. All in good time. For now, we will stand aside and let the Prince do his duty. Brennan can help, if need be.”

Brett pondered her words for a moment. “What if they kill Goran,” he asked with a wave of his hand.

Johane smiled. “Your sister’s courses are late.”

“Really? Flora’s with child? Out of wedlock? With Goran?”  _What are you up to, Mother?_

“Goran...sure...anyway, they will wed tomorrow, right after breakfast, before any of her maids have a chance to gossip. Then we take her to Kirkwall with us, to keep her safe. Goran will agree to anything once she tells him about the baby. If anything happens to him, that babe in her belly becomes Prince...or Princess of Starkhaven. I’ll see to it that he enacts a new act of succession before we leave.”

Brett fell into the chair by the fire. “This is...it’s a lot to take in, Mother. But if you think it best we leave…”

“I do,” Johane fired back dismissively. “We have unresolved business in Kirkwall as well.”

Brett shuddered. _And that unresolved business is Sebastian Vael._  “Of course, Mother. I’ll begin preparations.”

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

__

_**Ostwick, 17th of Solace, 9:32 Dragon…** _

Sebastian stood at a narrow window in Teyrn Conal Oswallt’s study, the deep gray stonework of the walls matching the stormy weather outside. He was mesmerized by the delicate sound of raindrops pattering against the glass when a sudden thunderclap made him jump.

Teyrn Oswallt chuckled, tugging at one of the braids in his beard. “These summer storms, I tell ya. One minute, the sun is cookin’ us half to death, the next, BOOM!”

Sebastian managed a polite smile before returning his attention to anything but what was going on in the study. Behind him, Ryon and Richard rolled their eyes.

“Your Highness, if we are to negotiate anything at all, we need you to join the conversation,” Ryon scolded.

The Teyrn gripped Sebastian’s shoulder. “Sebastian, I know you don’t want to see anything bad happen to Starkhaven. I don’t want that, either. I can help, if only you’ll sign this treaty.”

Sebastian spun around, his aqua eyes flashing with anger. “Your Grace, I know damn well that what you call a treaty is, in fact, a marriage contract. I will not be forced into marriage.”

Conal looked up at the Prince with pleading eyes. “Your Highness, consider your people. I have more food than I know what to do with, and my men are itching for a good fight. Besides, you and Tamsyn have gotten on marvelously. She’s fallen for you.”

Ryon chimed in. “Tantervale’s siege machines are nothing to scoff at--the triple walls of Starkhaven will fall without Ostwick’s help, Sebastian.”

Conal nodded thankfully towards the warrior. “I’ve already started getting everything together--food, weapons, you need it, it’s yours. If you sign this treaty right now, relief will be on the way by nightfall, I swear it.”

Sebastian glared at the Teyrn, folding his arms defensively. “IF I sign this _marriage contract_ , I reserve the right to take an appropriate period to prepare for the wedding.”

Conal nodded enthusiastically. “Certainly. Marry her after you secure your throne, if you wish.”

Sebastian snatched the paper from the Teyrn’s desk and strode to the far corner. He read over the treaty, Ryon and Richard standing over him. The two guardians exchanged a glance once they read the sentence that promised Tamsyn’s virginity and nodded.

“Sign it, Sebastian,” Richard urged. “It is a very favorable contract. We will follow Oswallt’s men in a few days’ time, once they’ve had the chance to subdue the bulk of Tantervale’s forces. You will return to Starkhaven as her savior, and the people will do anything to secure your rule.”

 _This can’t be happening. Not like this. I barely… I don’t love… This isn’t who I…_ Sebastian slowly shook his head. The stone walls seemed to close in on him. His breath quickened and he felt woozy as he began to hyperventilate. He put a hand on the stone wall to steady himself, recoiling as he realized he’d grabbed a certain part of a carved paragon’s anatomy. “I...still feel that…”

“Sign it, you fool,” Ryon growled as he elbowed Sebastian in the ribs. “If you want love, take a damned mistress. You need Tamsyn to legitimize your claim.”

Sebastian stood there, eerily silent, for several tense moments. _So this is it. Forced into a marriage with a near-complete stranger, and for what? A few swords and some food? What happened to Father’s wish that I marry for love? And I saw how miserable Alistair is. I mean, Tamsyn is great, but do I... Is she... I guess... No, I’m not in love with her now, but I...I could be. I will try._ Finally, he glared at both men, nostrils flaring. “Fine, you win,” he hissed. He stormed back to the Teyrn’s desk and slapped the parchment onto the wood, scribbling his name on the page before he could change his mind. He stared at the ink and felt dirty. _Maker, forgive me. I’m just doing what I think is best for my people._

The Teyrn slapped Sebastian firmly on the back. “Splendid! I’ll send word downstairs right now! You and Tamsyn will be very, very happy, and she’s _all_ yours now, Your Highness.” He practically skipped out of his study, humming a jaunty tune.

Richard approached, hand outstretched. “Sebastian, congrat--”

“Shove it, both of you,” Sebastian growled as he stormed out of the study.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Went offline for a while to enter a super-intense coding school. I'm done, and chasing all the plot bunnies that struck over the past few months in between applying for jobs.


	13. The Ghosts that Linger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's past comes back to haunt him.

_**Ostwick, 21st of Solace, 9:32 Dragon…** _

A flash of lightning briefly lit the corridor as Sebastian crept out of his temporary apartments at Caer Ostwick, where he’d been staying since signing his marriage contract. Sneaking through the darkened castle, the prince soon found his way to one of the servant entrances. Thunder clapped and the heavens opened up, with fat, wind-whipped raindrops smacking loudly against the stonework of the castle. Sebastian walked briskly towards the Teyrn’s stables, so he might escape the driving rain that much sooner. An old, familiar tingle of anticipation surged through his body as he recounted the note that had lured him out into the stormy night.

 

_Meet me in the stables after Father retires to his chambers._

_We need to seal our contract._

_–T_

 

The note left no doubt as to Tamsyn’s intent. While Sebastian had initially felt forced to sign the marriage contract, he’d had a few days to calm down and realize the benefits the contract promised. True to his word, the gruff ruler of Ostwick had dispatched a caravan of soldiers and supplies as soon as the contract was signed. The Prince and his guardians would leave Ostwick in two days’ time, all part of the plan to position Sebastian as the savior of Starkhaven. Everything was falling into place, just as Sebastian had been praying for.

The Teyrn, delighted by the Prince’s decision, had also joked about Tamsyn belonging to Sebastian now, which the Prince had initially brushed off as a bad joke. However, Tamsyn’s increased affections only seemed to confirm her father’s remark. Since Sebastian had signed the contract, she’d been practically stalking him, lurking in the shadows, grabbing him and pulling him in for quick petting sessions when nobody was around. Sebastian wasn’t about to complain, either. Physical chemistry was what Sebastian had been craving in their relationship, and with each heated kiss, he felt more secure in his decision to marry the feisty redhead.

A sudden gust of wind caused Sebastian to shiver violently. _Do I really want to do this? Do I want to break my vows now, before we’re joined before the Maker? I mean, I do love her…she’s witty and beautiful…perhaps not everything I want, but is there ever a perfect woman? And, like Richard said, this is a match for politics and breeding…best find out if we are compatible in that area._

Sebastian thought he heard someone as he approached the stable, but dismissed the noise, figuring it was either the wind or the horses. He paused at the side door. _What if the Teyrn was only joking, and I get her with child before we’re married? Why would he say such a thing, why would she suddenly want me now, when I’m leaving in two days and don’t know when I’ll return? This feels like some sort of trap, but the Oswallts have been nothing but generous. Surely, the Teyrn gave Tamsyn leave to do this. I just need to be careful. Surely I can remember how to do that?_ Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Sebastian boldly opened the door.

He could not have anticipated what he would find inside that dimly-lit barn.

The noise he’d heard was, in fact, a woman— _his_ woman. Sebastian’s jaw dropped as he watched a naked Tamsyn astride a young, sandy-blonde man, bouncing vigorously on his lap as she took another man in her mouth. Sebastian wanted to believe Tamsyn was being savagely assaulted, but from the way she squealed in delight, she was clearly enjoying it. In his previous life, Sebastian might have joined the trio. Now? He felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach as he watched the Teyrn’s stablehands defile his betrothed. To make matters worse, in that moment, he wasn’t seeing Tamsyn—he was seeing Colleen MacDougal as the memory of her betrayal and all that followed came flooding back.

Furious, Sebastian stomped closer to the trio, but nobody seemed to notice—all had their eyes closed as they chased orgasmic bliss. The black-haired man receiving Tamsyn’s oral ministrations gasped when he opened his eyes and found an angry Sebastian staring back at him. He stumbled back to get as far away from the Prince as possible, kicking over an empty bucket. Startled by the commotion, Tamsyn’s and the other stablehand’s eyes flew open. The sandy blonde pushed her off his lap without warning, and she landed on the straw as the two men ran out of the barn, still naked.

Tamsyn scrambled to grab her dress, desperately clutching it to her naked body. “Sebastian, dearest! What are you doing out here?” she blurted as she climbed to her feet.

Sebastian cocked his head and frowned. “What do you mean? I got your note. Did you think I’d enjoy finding you like this?” _Oh, no…no, no, no, not like this…not again…_

“I-I...what note? I didn’t send you a note!” Tamsyn demanded in an attempt to deflect Sebastian’s anger.

Sebastian started to pace in front of her, stopping to twist a hand in his auburn locks. “Don’t start...just _answer me_ , Tamsyn! Why is my betrothed, who just signed a contract attesting to her virginity, getting fucked like a bitch in heat?”

Tamsyn bit at her lower lip and stared at the hay-covered ground as she thought of an excuse. “I...wanted to ensure I could please you. I thought you would find it sexier if I had experience,” she said, playing the part of an innocent perfectly.

“No, I didn’t find this sexy, and now I don’t find you particularly desirable, either,” Sebastian spat as he looked at her nude form with disgust.

Tamsyn was taken aback by his righteous attitude. “How DARE you! Sebastian, every woman in the Free Marches has heard of your sexual escapades. I find it hypocritical that you would judge me—your future wife—for taking steps to ensure I can please a man who is so experienced.”

Sebastian shook his head slowly and sighed. He leaned against one of the stall doors, chuckling at how his youthful stupidity had come back to haunt him yet again. “You are right, Tamsyn, I was promiscuous in my youth. But people change. I’ve changed. I realized long ago that physical pleasures do nothing to soothe the soul, so I left that person behind when I took a vow of chastity. I found that service to the Maker was far more fulfilling than empty encounters could ever be. I intended to break that vow for you—well, for my wife, really—and no one else. That said…I am not judging you for your intent. But I am judging you for your dishonesty,” he explained with a huff. “If you’d simply come to me, expressed your concerns about being able to please me, I could have told you…” Sebastian leaned in close, whispering in Tamsyn’s ear. “ _Nothing_ excites me more than a willing partner, no matter how inexperienced.”

Tamsyn’s breath hitched at the brogue-laden words in her ear. With a wry smile, Sebastian stood upright again, folding his arms across his chest confidently but inside, the pain of betrayal—both old and new—eroded any sense of triumph he could have felt at her reaction. “Instead, you chose to throw your virginity away on two stablehands instead of your husband and, to be brutally honest, I don’t think you have to worry about being able to please a man. From all appearances, you fuck like an Orlesian whore.”

Tamsyn hid her face in shame, then scowled at the ground in frustration, before leveling a cold stare at her Prince. “Fine, you know what? I haven’t been a virgin for years, because I LOVE sex. I can please you in ways you can’t begin to imagine,” she said with a self-assured smirk as she let the dress fall away from her body. “Admit it, Sebastian, we both have pasts. Let’s put this behind us, shall we?”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes on Tamsyn, growing angrier as she tried to seduce her way out of her folly. He swallowed hard as she started to unbutton his doublet. _Of course she’s been unfaithful. How could I have missed the signs? Why? Why betray me just like Colleen did? I could have gotten over anything else, but not this._  He grabbed Tamsyn’s wrists to stop her. “Given how I found you, it was quite obvious you were no virgin, but I commend you for confessing,” he spat. “But before you brag about your prowess, _lass_ , I’ve had some of the finest women in all of Thedas. You would have had some pretty… _stiff_ competition. Don’t think a pair of perky tits can outmatch an Antivan bard in the sack.” He released Tamsyn and began to stomp out of the stable.

Tamsyn gave chase, grabbing at his sleeve. “Sebastian, wait—“

Sebastian yanked his sleeve out of Tamsyn’s grasp and rounded viciously, his words directed at the ghost of Colleen MacDougal as much as they were at the redhead before him. “ _NO!_ We could have been happy! We could have had a perfect marriage, and I would have given you _anything_ your heart desired…but not now. I can never trust you again. Not after this!”

The horses fussed in their stalls at the commotion. Tamsyn stood in the straw-covered aisle, naked as the day she was born, voice shaking. “W-where are you going?”

“Where do you think? I’m going to tear up our marriage contract. I will not honor a deal made under false pretense,” Sebastian explained, struggling to regain a calm demeanor as he opened the door.

Tamsyn dropped to her knees, sobbing. “Sebastian, _please_ …you can’t tell Father!”

Sebastian had already yanked the door open and walked through, but stuck his head back inside when he heard her plea. “This is _your_ bed, Tamsyn Oswallt,” Sebastian snarled, gesturing around the stable. “You made it, you lie in it. I’m not protecting you. Don’t talk to me again.”  With that, Sebastian Vael slammed the door on Tamsyn Oswallt…and Colleen MacDougal. Twisting his face in agony, Sebastian resumed his march towards the castle as long-conquered urges nagged at him. _I do not need liquor to soothe me. The Maker will guide me. I will not falter._

It seemed to take half the time to get back to the castle as it had to reach the stables. Once inside the castle, Sebastian heard footsteps behind him, but he didn’t bother looking back.

“Heard all that, I hope,” Sebastian hissed over his shoulder as he stormed up the staircase towards the Teyrn’s apartments.

“Aye. I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” Richard replied, voice low. “If I had known—“

“The contract is void. Start packing. We leave in the morning. I’m going to have a word with the Teyrn,” Sebastian said without missing a beat.

Richard stopped, opening his mouth to stop Sebastian before ultimately staying silent. He watched the Prince as he turned to the left and disappeared into the labyrinth. “What have I done?” the Seeker muttered under his breath.

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

__

_**Ostwick, Caer Ostwick, 22nd of Solace, 9:32 Dragon…** _

The howling thunderstorm from the night before had left behind an ominous grey sky, with wisps of fog obscuring the emerald grass in Caer Ostwick’s courtyard. Sebastian Vael stood on a staircase landing, watching over the Teyrn’s servants as they hurriedly prepared his horses for departure. Sebastian’s face was harsh and unflinching, his arms crossed across his dragonbone-armored chest. On either side of him, Richard and Ryon grew increasingly concerned for the young man’s emotional state.

“Pardon me, but I need to have a word with the Prince,” Teyrn Oswallt whispered to Ryon, who graciously stepped aside.

“What now?” Sebastian asked as he shifted his weight, the scalemail making a slight shimmering sound.

“I-I just wanted to say again--”

“As I said last night, Teyrn, I accept your apology. I would even accept your daughter’s, were she to give one. But apologies do nothing to soothe my pain, nor do they feed my people. A contract is a contract and must be enforced, even in default,” Sebastian said coldly, never taking his piercing aqua eyes off of the courtyard.

A look of regret, mixed with concern, crossed the Teyrn’s face. “Aye, it is. My apologies are genuine, Your Highness, as were my motives. And I have no intention of asking for my troops or food back. It’s the least I can do.”

“You admitted knowing of Tamsyn’s... _escapades_ , and still lied in the contract. I have a hard time believing in your _motives_ , Teyrn.” Sebastian cast a pointed glare at the man.

Conal was taken aback by Sebastian’s change in tone. “Don’t forget that your pre-Chantry reputation is still known in these parts, _Prince Vael_ ,” he snarled. “My motives were to marry my filthy whore of a daughter to a filthy whore of a man who happened to have some station in life. My motives were to keep my girl out of the cloister. But now that you’ve so brazenly shamed my family…” The Teyrn trailed off as he caught sight of Tamsyn, dressed in a drab brown linen robe, being led out of the courtyard by a Chantry sister. “Forget it. Maker preserve you.” He shook his head bitterly and walked away with a dismissive wave.

Sebastian saw his former betrothed as well, feeling a slight pang of empathy as he noticed her downcast eyes, swollen from crying. He set his jaw firmly to keep from showing any emotion. _She brought this on herself. The Chantry is the best place for her...it saved me, after all._

As soon as Tamsyn and the Chantry sister disappeared through a small door beside the caer’s main gate, two templars entered.

“Shit, they’re here already?” A voice whispered from the shadows, just feet behind Sebastian. Richard instinctively unsheathed his daggers.

Sebastian stayed his Seeker guardian’s hand. “Relax. ‘Tis only my cousin,” he said with a mischievous smile.

Cerise Trevelyan smiled brightly as she emerged from behind a stack of crates. “ ‘Tis only,” she said. “Today is the day, dear cousin, but I wanted to give you this before I left.” She awkwardly thrust a folded note towards Sebastian. He took it, tucking the oddly-weighted missive into a belt pouch.

“You will be fine, Cerise,” Sebastian reassured her. “You’re going to do great things. I will keep you in my prayers.”

“Just...don’t forget about me, okay? Maybe write me once in a while, or have me come to the Starkhaven circle once you’re in charge?” She asked anxiously, chewing at her bottom lip.

“Cerise! There you are!” Aslyn Trevelyan shouted as she descended the stairs.

Sebastian noticed the impatient knights stood only feet away now, but paid them no mind. “Of course I’ll keep in touch. Just mind yourself and I’m certain you will be treated kindly.” He leaned down to give her a tight hug. “Harm one hair on her head and I will see you both kicked out of the order,” he snarled at the templars.

Cerise flashed a half-smile at her cousin before turning towards the templars and her mother. She gave Aslyn a half-hearted hug, and her mother watched somberly as her daughter was led away. Sebastian returned his attention to the horses below just as the stablehands finished tacking them up. _Not a moment too soon._

“I cannot begin to apologize, Sebastian,” Aslyn whispered. “If I’d known--”

“You didn’t, and I don’t blame you, Aunt,” Sebastian replied with a forlorn expression. “It is regrettable that I’m leaving under such circumstances, but know that Ostwick’s generosity will be repaid once I take my place in Starkhaven.”

“That is incredibly gracious of you, given what happened, Sebastian. I always knew you’d be a more fit ruler than either of your brothers.”

Sebastian flashed a bitter smile. “Ah, we will never truly know, will we?”

“Sebastian, I didn’t mean--”

Sebastian pulled his aunt in for a hug. “It’s quite alright, Aunt Aslyn. Now, we must depart or we will not make Markham by nightfall.”

“With all the rain last night, we wouldn’t make Markham by nightfall even if we’d left at dawn,” Ryon interrupted. “It’s a treacherous trip when dry. Lots of little streams and forested area to cross. It’s gonna be tough, dirty riding now that it rained so much. We’ll have to make camp somewhere tonight.” He urged Sebastian to make his way down to the horses.

“Do you have to go to Starkhaven right now? Maybe you should return to Kirkwall while things resolve with Tantervale,” Aslyn muttered, wringing her hands as she followed the men down the stairs.

Sebastian paused, turned around, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I need to go. I need to remind myself what I’m fighting for, and I need to try to talk sense into Goran. I believe this can be settled with minimal bloodshed if we act quickly.”

“Alright, but please…” Aslyn trailed off, tears welling in her eyes. _Please don’t get killed._

Sebastian flashed an easy grin. “I have the two finest guards in the Free Marches, and I’m skilled with both bow and dagger. I’ll be fine. If you’re going to worry, worry for Cerise.”

Aslyn sighed heavily. “I do. I do worry for her. I...never meant to make her feel...but it’s too late now, I’m afraid. She’s in the Circle, and I will likely never see her again.”

“I’m sure you could get special permission, being nobility and all. I’ve seen it happen many times,” Richard offered gently.

“I saw her give you something,” Aslyn said to Sebastian. “She hasn’t willingly engaged anyone like that in ages. If you can find time, please write her. Cerise has always longed for acceptance. She is such a sweet girl.”

“Certainly. She and I had several enjoyable conversations. She’s really opened my eyes up to a situation back in Kirkwall. But we really must depart now, Aunt. I’m sorry.”

“Just promise me you’ll come back to visit someday, okay?”

“Okay. I promise,” Sebastian said with a smile. He put one foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up into the saddle. Richard nodded and clicked his tongue at his mount. The other two horses followed Richard’s lead as the trio trotted out of the courtyard.

The ride was every bit as difficult and muddy as Ryon described. The dense clouds, unrelenting rain, and shifting winds chilled the trio to the bone. A particularly nasty stretch of swampland had left the men and their horses smelling terrible and a pack containing all of their food had fallen into one of the streams. Ryon and Richard had been idly chatting the entire time, but Sebastian just stared off into the horizon as the horses trotted along an easy path.

Richard glanced back at the Prince, then at Ryon. Ryon followed suit, and then looked down at the reins in his hands.

“Did we go too far?” The grizzled warrior whispered.

“We did what was necessary for the good of Starkhaven,” Richard replied. “That harlot would have been a disaster as Princess.”

“But is it better to have an idiot or a broken man on the throne? I’ve never seen him like this--he hasn’t said a word.”

“He looks focused. Angry, but focused, and that’s how we need him to be...for now.”

“Richard, even the strongest, most devout of men can only take so much pain before they snap.”

“I’m well aware of what he’s been through, Ryon. Trust me--he’ll be fine. He’s every bit a Vael.”

“Very well. You have spent more time with him in recent years. Why don’t we make camp here? There are plenty of high spots to pitch our tents.”

“Agreed. Plus, I’ve seen a few rabbits around. Sebastian and I can go pick a couple off while you start a fire.” Richard held up a hand as he pulled up on the reins.

Sebastian, who hadn’t heard anything his guards had been saying, shook himself from his reverie and dismounted, tying his horse to a tree. “I’d like to go hunt for a bit, see if I can’t get us some supper,” he muttered, wandering towards a thick grove of trees a few hundred yards away.

“Excellent idea,” Richard said. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” Sebastian blurted. “I mean, I could use a few minutes to myself. It’s been a rough day.”

Ryon and Richard looked at each other. “Very well,” Ryon grumbled. “But stay close to camp and don’t mess around. Daylight’s wasting.”

Sebastian nodded and jogged away. As soon as he’d gotten far enough away, he paused, leaning against one of the ancient trees. He grabbed Cerise’s note from his belt pouch. As he opened it, a small vial on a leather cord fell out. He leaned over and picked it up, holding it up to inspect the greenish liquid inside. Sebastian smiled and started to put on the necklace without reading the note.

In his haste to get away from Ryon and Richard, Sebastian hadn’t assessed his surroundings. He didn’t see the shadowed figure lurking in the tree just feet away, nor did he hear the telltale creak of a bowstring being pulled taut.

The arrow struck just above the edge of Sebastian’s dragonbone chestplate, slicing straight through the leather. Sebastian dropped Cerise’s letter and necklace. The pain was blinding and white-hot, burning far more than an ordinary wound should have, and he knew in an instant that the arrow had been tipped with poison. _What manner of poison burns like this? Maker, preserve me!_ Sebastian tugged at the arrow, desperate to let the wound bleed and flush out as much of the poison as possible, but it was too late. He felt numbness creep across his chest and down the right side of his body. Falling to his knees, Sebastian heard footsteps land on the forest floor. He quietly grabbed his boot dagger with his still-functional left hand. _Maker, though I have stumbled many times in this life, you have always shown me the way. And I will know no fear of death, Maker, for you are my beacon and my shield, my foundation..._

“That’s for my brother. He’s marching to save your precious Starkhaven while his wife is heavy with child.” The voice was as poisonous as the arrow in Sebastian’s chest. “And this,” the cloaked man said as he stood over the wounded prince, drawing his bowstring, “is for Tams-- _AAAHHHHHHH!_ ”

Sebastian had jammed his dagger deep into the inner thigh of the assassin and yanked down as hard as he could, decimating the man’s femoral artery. _...And my sword._ The man collapsed in a heap, blood gushing from the wound as he fell unconscious. Within moments, the assassin was dead.

Sebastian eased over to the man, hissing slowly through his teeth to slow his heart rate and deal with the overwhelming pain. He flipped back the assassin’s hood, recognizing the sandy-blonde haired man from the Teyrn’s stables the night before. Rolling back onto the ground, Sebastian stared at the sky, the gray clouds now tinged with the dusky shades of sunset. He didn’t know if it was the shock of being attacked, the blood loss, or the poison coursing through his veins, but everything was growing dark and fuzzy around the edges and the clouds were shifting in odd patterns. His head swam as he struggled to stay awake and he swore, just through the trees, that he could hear his father calling him.

“Father!” Sebastian shouted back with all the strength he could muster before everything faded to black.

 


	14. The Poison That Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian fights for his life. Tantervale arrives on Starkhaven's doorstep. Hawke emerges from the Deep Roads with more baggage than she bargained for.

_** The forest south of Markham, 22nd of Solace, 9:32 Dragon... ** _

“Did you hear that?” Richard asked.

Ryon pounded a tent stake into the ground. He paused, wiping sweat from his brow. “No, I don’t think so. What do you think you heard?”

“It sounded like a man--which way did Sebastian go?”

“He headed in that general direction,” Ryon said, waving due west towards a thick grove of trees. He scrambled to his feet, alarmed by the distress in Richard’s voice. “You don’t think anyone--”

“I do. Let’s go!”

Ryon and Richard ran as fast as they could through the trees, low-hanging limbs scraping them on all sides as they frantically called Sebastian’s name...with no reply.

“There!” Ryon cried, spotting the gilded edges of Sebastian’s armor glinting in the fading light.

The pair knelt beside him. Sebastian was still. Too still. “Maker, is he--” Richard muttered, choking. He felt like he might vomit. _So much for my promise to the Divine._

“Still breathing, but only just,” Ryon whispered with a thin smile. “The assassin didn’t fare as well. Good strike to the thigh. You teach him that?”

Richard nodded, and if the situation had been any less dire, he’d have beamed with pride. “I recognize this man. He’s one of the Teyrn’s stablehands, the one who--”

Ryon, who had pulled the arrow out of Sebastian’s chest, noticed the oily coating and offered it to Richard. The Seeker sniffed the arrowhead. “Poison. Fleshrot. We’ve no time to lose.” He leaned down and started sucking poisoned blood from the wound, spitting it to the side.

“Fool! You’ll kill yourself!” Ryon admonished.

“This is just to get the worst of it out. I’ve been creating all manner of poisons for years. I’m immune to most anything,” Richard snapped. He sat up and wiped Sebastian’s blackened blood from his mouth before fumbling through tiny vials of antidotes in his belt pouch. “This is a poison I haven’t seen since I left Nevarra... _shit_! Of course I don’t have anything to counter this.” He tore at his shoulder-length hair, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself.

“You dropped one,” Ryon said, pointing at a vial on the ground a couple of feet away.

Richard grabbed the vial, noticing the cord. “This isn’t mine...wait,” Richard said, spotting the note. He grabbed it, scanning the tidy writing.

 

* * *

_Sebastian,_

_Thank you so much for being my friend. You’re the only person who doesn’t view my magic as a curse, and now I don’t either. I made this just for you. May it save you as you saved me._

_Cerise_

* * *

 

 

Richard broke open the vial, taking a quick sniff. _Elfroot. Perhaps blood lotus? Skillfully concentrated. I underestimated young Trevelyan. This should counter the rotting effect of the poison well enough until I can get to a laboratory to distill the antidote._ “Maker’s breath,” he whispered, not believing their incredible luck. “Open his mouth, Ryon. This just might keep him alive until we get to Markham.”

Ryon, puzzled, did as the Seeker asked. Richard poured the liquid into Sebastian’s mouth. Ryon propped up the prince’s head and rubbed his throat to stimulate swallowing. After what seemed like an eternity, Sebastian’s eyes fluttered open.

“F-Father?” Sebastian said weakly.

Ryon couldn’t help the tear that slid down his cheek as he smiled down at the prince. “Sssh. Not yet. Not _today_. You hear me?”

Sebastian’s upper lip twitched slightly as he groaned.

“He’s breathing better. Let’s move,” Richard barked. The men picked Sebastian up, carrying him back to camp as quickly as they could without hurting him further.

As they approached their horses, Ryon spoke over his shoulder. “Should we strap him to his horse? The ground has been pretty thick with stones. If we put him on a sled, he could get hurt worse.”

“Agreed.”

The men gently draped Sebastian across the back of his horse, face down, using spare rope to secure him to the horse’s back. Sebastian let out a loud groan at the pressure on his torso.

“There. And look, the wound is bleeding a bit more. That’s good, that pushes more of the poison out. This ride will be slow going, though. How much further do you think we have to go?”

“Honestly, it’s only a couple of miles, but I was too damn hungry to ride further and I had wanted to wash up in the creek before we enter the city. We smell like a rotten swamp, if you hadn’t noticed,” Ryon said, ashamed at what his selfishness had cost them.

Richard chuckled and shook his head. “Come on stinky, we’ve more pressing matters. And keep an eye out for prophet’s laurel--that’s the main ingredient I need for the antidote.”

Throughout the ride, Sebastian went in and out of consciousness. Vision blurred by the poison in his blood made the moonlit forest seem to come alive. He could have sworn the trees were watching, maybe even following them through the woods. His whole body burned with fever, sweat periodically making its way to the tip of his nose and dropping off into oblivion. _Maker, is this the end? Am I to join you soon? Sweet Andraste, guide me swiftly!_

An hour later, the trio paused at Markham’s city gate. Four guardsmen--two warriors on the ground and two archers in the towers--raised their weapons.

“Halt! State your business,” one of the warriors boomed. The others braced for a fight.

“We need the healer,” Ryon responded.

The same warrior yelled back, “It’s the middle of the night! He’s asleep! Come back in the morning!”

Richard dismounted his horse, holding up one hand in surrender while using the other to slowly lead Sebastian’s horse toward the warriors. Ryon followed Richard’s lead in surrendering, but stayed back. “My name is Ser Richard Kendrick, and I am a knight of the Seekers of Truth. I am in these parts on Chantry business. This young man is a royal and my charge. We were ambushed by an assassin and he was wounded with a poisoned arrow. You don’t want royal blood on your hands, do you?”

The warriors looked at each other, then to Richard’s Seeker armor, Ryon’s guard-captain plate, and finally to Sebastian’s gleaming white armor.

“Who’s the other guy? Doesn’t look like no Seeker armor to me!”

“My associate is the prince’s personal bodyguard--surely you see the quality of his armor?”

The warriors looked at each other once more and nodded.

“Raise the gate!”

Ryon, Richard, and Sebastian slowly moved forward. Richard paused by the lead warrior. “Thank you, Sers. I will personally inform the Divine of Markham’s hospitality. Which way to the healer?”

“Take the first left, it’s 3 doors down. Bright blue door, can’t miss it. Maker watch over you all, Seeker.”

Minutes later, the trio arrived at the healer’s simple dwelling. Ryon knocked on the door. After several moments, he started to knock again just as the door creaked open.

A tiny man, bones gnarled with age, stood in the doorway. His long nightshirt and cap fluttered in the breeze and Ryon could have sworn that the old man would disappear if he turned sideways. The healer waved an ancient, crooked walking stick in their general direction. “Whaddaya want? It’s the middle of the night!”

Richard stepped forward, puffing out his chest and clearing his throat. The healer took notice of the Seeker insignia and cowered slightly, putting his walking stick behind his back.

“I-I mean, how can I help, Seeker?”

“We are sorry to trouble you so late, but my charge has been struck with a poisoned arrow. I know the recipe for the antidote, and I gathered enough prophet’s laurel for two doses. Please, let us in. I need only your laboratory.”

The old healer shuffled out of the way, beckoning the men inside. Richard and Ryon carefully untied Sebastian and carried him inside. Sebastian grimaced in pain, grunting his disapproval at being moved. They began to set him down on the dining table, but the healer clucked his tongue at them.

“Over here, I’ve a cot in my laboratory.”

Ryon and Richard laid Sebastian on the cot. Sebastian let out an agonizing groan, and then relaxed into the canvas, his breaths short and shallow. Ryon stroked his damp auburn hair, worry further twisting his already-grizzled visage.

The old man gasped. “Maker’s breath, look at all that sweat! He’s burning up! What’s the poison?

“Fleshrot,” Ryon muttered as he began to slowly unfasten the dozens of buckles on Sebastian’s armor.

“Fleshrot? Oh no, no good. No good at all,” the healer muttered as he grabbed a small knife. Ryon glared at the healer, but leaned back to let the old man work. He moved like a man fifty years his junior as he deftly sliced the leather straps holding Sebastian’s chestplate in place. 

Meanwhile, Richard raided the healer’s small laboratory. The seeker gathered a flask and vials of blood lotus, royal elfroot, and rashvine tinctures. He quickly poured everything into the healer’s alembic and lit the candle underneath. He then put half of the prophet’s laurel into a mortar and pestle, grinding the bell-shaped blooms into paste.

Sebastian jerked in pain as the healer lifted the bloodied chestplate out of the way. In moments, the healer’s gnarled fingers had most of Sebastian’s torso exposed to the dim candlelight. The men gasped at the sight of Sebastian’s wound. The poison had spread far more than Richard had anticipated. Black trails spread from the hole in his upper chest like a sinister spiderweb, trailing down his right arm, up the side of his neck, and across most of his chest. The smell of dying flesh was sickening, and Ryon thought he might throw up. “The boy needs more than prophet’s laurel, Seeker. He needs a miracle from the Maker himself if he’s to make it ‘til dawn.”

Richard scraped the pulverized prophet’s laurel into the alembic, swirling the vessel to mix the concoction before placing it above the candle once more. “What would you suggest we do?”

The healer sniffed the wound and recoiled. “He needs to lose that arm. Now.”

“Absolutely not,” Ryon barked. “Not unless it falls off on its own.”

“Agreed,” Richard added, watching as the mixture began to simmer. “No amputation.”

The healer looked slightly disappointed. “Fine,” he said in a huff. “I’ll get the leeches.”

Richard cleared his throat again. “Seekers are not templars, apostate. I’m not sworn to take you to the Circle.”

The old man let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the Maker! I haven’t kept leeches in decades. Thought I would have to grab some worms out of the garden and fake it.” He grabbed the walking stick, the tip glowing green as the healer charged it with magic. “Now, I can’t heal the damage until the antidote’s had a chance to work, but let me give him milk of poppy to keep him asleep and comfortable. Fleshrot is the most painful of poisons, and the more he moves, the faster it spreads.”

Ryon nodded, and helped the healer administer a few drops of the potent painkiller to the deliriously feverish prince. Sebastian settled into a deep slumber as the medicine took effect. The minutes seemed to stretch on forever as the men watched the antidote while it distilled, drop by excruciating drop. If it weren’t a life-or-death situation, Richard would have found watching the process quite relaxing, but now? Waiting for each drop to fall into the flask caused his stomach to knot ever-tighter.

When the flask was only a quarter-full, the healer broke the charged silence. “That’ll do for the first dose. Quickly, pour half directly into the wound, then have him drink the rest. ”

Richard nodded, replacing the partial flask with an empty one, careful to not waste a single drop. He turned around and knelt next to Sebastian. He checked the flask’s temperature to ensure it wasn’t too hot and then gingerly poured half into the gaping arrow wound. Ryon once again helped to administer medicines to the wounded prince.

Sebastian spluttered on the bitter antidote, but the milk of poppy did its job and his eyes remained closed. His flesh bloomed pink as he absorbed the antidote. The black poisonous trails across his body stopped spreading, then began to recede.

The healer laughed. “Good! Very good indeed! Do this again three more times, and the boy just might survive. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some sleep before I heal the boy. I’m 103 years old, Sers, and I just can’t cast spells like I used to. Good night.”

“Thank you, healer.”

“Orson. Call me Orson.”

“Oh! In the chaos, we forgot our manners. I’m Ryon, the Seeker is Richard, and our patient is Sebastian. Thank you, Orson. You’ve saved a very important life tonight.”

Orson replied with a near-toothless grin. “We are _all_ the Maker’s special creations, and I help anyone who comes to me, regardless of their station.”

The healer shuffled slowly to the back of the cottage, closing his bedroom door.

“I...don’t think I’ll be sleeping,” Ryon whispered as he watched Sebastian’s chest rise and fall with every breath.

“Oh no, me either,” Richard replied. “I need to administer the other doses, so no sleeping. I’m going to distill as much of this antidote as I can get from these flowers. I’d like to take some with us, given…”

Ryon, who was still sitting on the floor beside Sebastian, slumped back against a storage chest. “True. What a wild night this has been. What a wild _life_. If you’d told me just ten years ago that I’d be praying for the Maker to save Aidan Vael’s only surviving son in a Markham shanty, I’d have laughed in your face.”

Richard chuckled softly. “Ten years ago, I had just been made a Seeker. But I...I wouldn’t change anything that’s happened since then.”

Ryon pulled a whetstone from his belt pouch and began to run it along the length of his sword. “Not even...you know...your boy?”

“Especially not Tristan! In fact, if it weren’t for watching over Sebastian for so long, I would never have worked up the nerve to make things right with Lynne. He has...a certain way about him. Despite it all, he still exudes such purity.”

“Clearly, you’ve never caught him in the stables with a scullery maid,” Ryon snorted. “But I think I get what you mean. He has a very clear, strong sense of right and wrong, and fights for what he believes, always. Not many men can claim the same.”

“Even when the people around him fail, he still believes in them, despite not always believing in himself,” Richard said, scrawling on a small vial tag. He paused, scratching at his stubbly chin. “Except for his father. He’d given up on Aidan years ago.”

“I never thought I’d admit this, but Sebastian had every right to give up on Aidan. There was one night...Aidan and I had been drinking a lot...and he said something I’ll never forget. He said that Sebastian’s only problem was that he wanted love he could never seem to find, and pursuing it got him into more trouble than he could handle. What Aidan didn’t realize until it was far too late was that Sebastian craved his love, too. You heard him--he said ‘father’ right there in the forest.”

“Do you believe him--that Sebastian won’t find peace until he finds love?”

“I do. And that’s why I am so concerned about him now. I think he had opened his heart to the idea of love again. You never saw him after...after Colleen. I had to watch him tear at his hair and beat the cell walls and cry like nobody I’ve ever seen. But he hasn’t done any of that this time. He’s got this cold look about him now. And that’s what makes me think we might’ve broken him.”

“Ryon, he didn’t even want to marry her, despite the good contract. He couldn’t have loved her.”

“Couldn’t he? Did you ever see his eyes when she was near? They lit up the room. He was in love, even if he didn’t realize it yet.”

Richard furrowed his brow and returned his attention to the simmering alembic. _We definitely went too far._

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

__

_**Markham, early hours of the 23rd of Solace, 9:32 Dragon…** _

Orson’s filmy gray eyes popped open at the sound of sharp knocks on his door. The aged healer rolled out of bed as quickly as his body would allow, irritated by his abrupt disconnection from the Fade.

_Orson! The antidote stopped working! The poison is spreading again!_

_Maker, that arrow must have been tipped with two poisons_ , Orson mused as he grabbed his staff, opened his door, and rushed by Ryon on his way to Sebastian’s cot. The prince was ashen, lips blue, his chest barely moving with each shallow breath. His piercing aqua eyes rolled back and nearly every visible vein was black as he began convulsing violently. Richard tried to restrain Sebastian, turning his head to the side. The seizure quickly subsided, leaving the prince in a deep slumber.

“Double poison,” Richard muttered to Orson as Sebastian’s breathing evened out. “But the scent of the fleshrot overpowered the second, and I couldn’t smell it. I’ve failed him.” He tore at his hair while choking back hot tears.

“Quiet death,” Orson murmured under his breath. “It has no scent, and worse, no known antidote.” He slowly knelt by Sebastian. “You might want to stand back, Seeker.”

“What are you--” Richard asked, as Orson placed his hands on Sebastian’s wound. He wisely made his way back to where Ryon stood.

A green glow began to emanate from Orson’s hands. Sebastian’s flesh began to knit, but not quickly enough to outpace quiet death’s insidious spread. Orson furrowed his brow, drawing more will to fuel the spell, but it wasn’t enough. A voice, long-unheard, broke his concentration.

_You know this is why I came to you._

Orson nodded, looked up, and whispered, “I know.” His entire body radiated a golden light so bright, Ryon and Richard had to look away to save their sight. Once it subsided, they looked back to find Orson slumped over Sebastian. The prince sat up with a start, sucking in a long breath.

“Sebastian!” Ryon cried as he scrambled to Sebastian’s side. The prince coughed hard, spitting up bits of black bile.

Richard approached Orson, knowing fully what he would find. He gently laid the dead healer on his back as he murmured a quick blessing.

“Is he--” Ryon asked, fearing the worst, as he handed a handkerchief to Sebastian, who was still coughing up poison-laden phlegm.

“Dead,” Richard replied somberly. “A healer can perform miraculous feats, but spirit healers do so at the greatest cost.”

Ryon gave Richard a skeptical look. “How did you know he was a spirit healer?”

Richard stood, crossing the room to Orson’s bookcase, scanning the tomes. “I suspected it when he claimed to be 103 years old, but it was the burst of golden light that confirmed his abilities.”

“What was that, anyway?”

Richard located a book on spirits and grabbed it. “I am...unsure. I need to consult Chantry writings on spirit healers,” Richard fibbed. _Maker, if Sebastian is possessed now..._

Ryon approached Richard, taking note of the book in his hands. “You don’t think he was an abomination, do you?”

Richard quickly flipped through the pages of the healer’s book. “I’m not entirely sure what he was, other than Maker-sent in our time of need.”

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

__

_**Starkhaven, 24th of Solace, 9:32 Dragon…** _

Lord Chancellor Feargus Fitzpatrick gloated as he and his men rode towards Starkhaven’s famed triple walls. He relished the steady beat of hundreds of hooves behind him as he envisioned his imminent victory, a complete capitulation by Starkhaven’s Prince Fool, as he was known throughout the Marches.

“What will you do with the city, Lord Chancellor?” asked his captain, Finn.

“First, I will exterminate that mistake sitting on the throne. Then, I shall make every last citizen--from Lord to lowly--indentured to Tantervale. No soul in this city will so much as shit without my permission. We will have the power to rival Nevarra at last,” Feargus explained.

Finn blanched. “Indentured servitude? Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh, my Lord?”

“Given their current situation, serving a competent man such as myself will be a welcome relief,” Feargus shot back. He paused. “And after Starkhaven, perhaps we will move on Markham. Ostwick. The Marches will quake at our feet.”

“Why would we do such a--”

Finn was cut short by the halting arm of his Lord. He held up an arm to stop the army behind them as he squinted towards the horizon, where he could see a gathered force just outside Starkhaven’s gate.

Feargus pulled a telescope from his inner coat pocket and extended it, peering through the lens. “Two banners? Starkhaven’s lion rampant...and...a red dragon? Ostwick? What are they doing here?”

Finn shrugged.

“We’re in trebuchet range, but only just. Have the men make camp here. You and I will ride on to Starkhaven and get to the bottom of this. If we are ambushed, ride back with all haste and decimate this city, is that clear?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

 

_**Meanwhile, at the city gates...** _

The commander of the forces sent by Teyrn Oswallt, Rory, tried to mask the quiver in his voice as he spoke with Captain Corwin Ramsay...while having two dozen archers trained on him and his men from the ramparts.

“...and why would your Teyrn send us food and troops, with no messenger?” Ramsay demanded, glaring at the younger man before him.

Rory’s face grew red. “I-I...but your prince signed the treaty, Ser!”

“Our prince? The one who has been here, in the city, since his coronation? That’s impossible!”

Rory paused, confused. “No...he’s been in Ostwick since Drakonis. He was set to marry the Teyrn’s daughter, hence the treaty. I met him myself!”

“So what you’re telling me is that an imposter prince made promises on Starkhaven’s behalf, sent you fools to your certain deaths, and nobody thought to question him or send a messenger to Starkhaven?”

“He...uh...the Seeker and guard he travels with are very convincing. He even wears the lion rampant on his armor!”

“Does this so-called prince happen to have a name?”

“It’s Sebastian. Sebastian Vael. He’s got the right name and everything, doesn’t he?”

Corwin tried to hide the glee building inside him. “And is this Sebastian, is he also on the march?”

“Y-yes, Captain Ramsay. Just a day or so behind us.”

“Excellent. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but there will be no battle. We are resolving the situation with Tantervale peacefully. You may return to your homes. Thank your Teyrn for his generosity. It will not be forgotten,” Corwin oozed, an overly-sweet smile twisting his craggy face.

Rory smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and walked back towards his men.

Behind him, Ramsay signaled his archers to fire upon the Ostwick forces. Moments later, every one of the Teyrn’s men lay dead, crimson staining the emerald turf.

“Burn their banners. Pile the bodies where those Tantervale twits can smell them. Bring the supplies directly to the palace. I have a war to prevent,” Corwin barked at a lieutenant before practically running off to settle matters with Tantervale.

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

__

_**Markham, 1st of August (All Souls’ Day), 9:32 Dragon…** _

Sebastian could scarcely believe that just one week ago, he’d been at the brink of death. Sure, his right arm was still weak, but he was feeling better every day. The local Chantry had been gracious enough to receive him, Richard, and Ryon as temporary guests. In exchange, Richard and Ryon helped the Templars train, while Sebastian agreed to help the sisters prepare for All Souls’ Day. The work wasn’t particularly difficult, but with one bad arm, it had proven to be a challenge. Today, he found himself enjoying the sunshine while assembling a new Chanter’s board, using a knee to keep the wood from moving while he pounded nails into place.

A shrill voice broke Sebastian’s concentration. “Thank you again, Brother Sebastian, for helping with today’s festivities. The Maker certainly had a hand in bringing you to us when we needed a strong young man the most!”

_Maker, it’s weird to be called Brother again._ Sebastian sat upright, wiped his brow, and smiled. “It is my pleasure, Sister Anne. I only wish I had full use of both arms. I could have done so much more.”

“Sebastian, you did more with that one weak arm than three sisters combined. Given your injury, you’re lucky to be up and about. You are certainly a blessed soul,” Anne replied brightly before walking away.

Sebastian tacked the last plank into place and stood, admiring his handiwork. He looked towards the building and cringed at the large effigy of Andraste, tied to a stake, ready to be burned during the Chantry’s re-enactment of her death that evening. _I do hate All Souls’ Day._ He made his way towards his quarters--set up in a storage room in the basement to keep him separated from the women--and splashed his face with the cool water in his wash basin. He yawned, and decided to take a nap before the play began.

A series of soft knocks roused Sebastian from his slumber.

“Brother Sebastian? Are you alright? You missed the play,” a soft voice called through the door.

Sebastian sat up. “Um, yes, I’m fine. I-I just...I guess I was more tired than I thought, that’s all. Please give my apologies to the Revered Mother.”

“May I come in?”

“S-sure.”

The door opened, and on the other side stood Markham’s Revered Mother, Catherine.

“Revered Mother! I am so sorry. I didn’t recognize your voice, and--”

“ ‘Tis quite alright, Brother Sebastian. You’re still recovering from a near-fatal wound. Sleep is the best medicine. I just wanted to ask how much longer you’re planning to stay. While you are a brother of the faith, this is an exclusively-female Chantry, and--”

“I’m proving to be a distraction, right?”

“Um, yes, in a manner of speaking. I don’t mean any offense--”

“None taken. As a matter of fact, I had intended to discuss my departure with my traveling companions this evening. Do you happen to know what time it is?”

“Oh dear...the sun went down several candlemarks ago, so it has to be nearly eleven.”

“Maker preserve me! I was supposed to meet them at the tavern two hours ago! Mother, please, excuse me, but I must go.”

“Of course. Do stop by my office in the morning to let me know your plans?”

Sebastian nodded as he dashed through the corridor and up the stairs. To his dismay, the night festival had already started. _Shit, it’s got to be nearly midnight._ He deftly wove his way through the throngs of people dressed as spirits, growing more annoyed with every jostled shoulder. He was nearly at the tavern when he looked up and saw Colum Vael. _This can’t be. He’s been dead for years. This is merely a lookalike--_

The old man reached out, placing a hand on Sebastian’s good shoulder, and smiled, his eyes crinkling just like Colum’s used to.

“...Grandda?”

The old man chuckled, but said nothing as he released Sebastian’s shoulder and moved on, disappearing into the crowd. Sebastian broke free of the festival-goers and leaned against a partially-ruined stone wall.   _What was that all about?_

_Maybe the Maker sent him to remind you of your true path._

Sebastian nearly jumped out of his skin, looking all around in an attempt to spot who had spoken to him. Finding nobody around, he swallowed hard as he realized the voice had been inside his own head all along. _Who are you?_

Sebastian waited for the voice to respond, but it had gone silent. Shaking his head in disbelief, he made his way to the tavern.

“And here we thought you’d forgotten all about us,” Ryon joked as Sebastian settled into his seat. “Fortunately, Richard checked in on you while you slept.”

Sebastian snuffed and shook his head. “I don’t know what came over me. I--”

“You nearly died. You’re still healing. We weren’t actually concerned,” Richard offered. “But now that you’re here, let us discuss our next moves.”

“Your cousin settled the matter with Tantervale,” Ryon whispered. “But Ostwick’s men all perished in the fighting.”

“Pity,” Sebastian muttered as he took a sip of water. “The supplies arrived intact, I take it?”

“By all accounts, yes. People are no longer starving,” Ryon replied.

“But there’s a new development,” Richard said. “Goran...has taken a wife. And rumor has it she’s already with child.”

Ryon spat out a mouthful of ale. “A _wife_? _Children_? How did he manage such a thing without it becoming a public spectacle? And who in their right mind would marry their daughter to that simpleton?”

Richard wiped an errant drop of Ryon’s ale off his cheek. “Johane Harimann of Kirkwall, that’s who. Her daughter, Flora, is now the Princess of Starkhaven.”

“Johane! Of course,” Ryon muttered. “It all makes sense now. Renly came after us for his illegitimate daughter’s murder, but we could never figure out why he pursued the Vaels after Sebastian was exonerated, and why the nobility never settled down after we had him killed. If Johane has been behind the unrest all along...who knows how deep she has her claws in the people now?”

“What do we know about her?” Sebastian asked. “All I know is that she lives in Kirkwall. The Harimanns were always our allies.”

“Rumor has it, she is a Starkhaven native, but I don’t know anything more. I couldn’t tell you which family she belongs to,” Richard chimed in.

Ryon let out a sigh as he contemplated this news. Suddenly, he perked up. “Heh. Rumors dogged Lord Byron Heatherton for years about an illegitimate daughter named Joy. And I seem to recall there being a young mage named Joy in the Circle when I first joined Colum’s guard. Renly Harimann bribed the Knight-Commander to release her, and he took her to Kirkwall. Perhaps they were one in the same.”

“If that’s true, then Johane Harimann is an apostate. If Johane is Joy, what if she’s a blood mage?”

Ryon shuddered. _The Circle tower fire would make sense, given the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander were killed with blood magic. But we always put the blame on Decimus…_ “I don’t want to think about that, and neither do you. If she’s manipulating Goran, or even the general population with blood magic...we have a very difficult road ahead of us. We may...want to delay our return to Starkhaven.”

“Agreed,” Sebastian piped up. “I think, all things considered, that marching into Starkhaven will only get us killed.”

Richard raised his eyebrows. “So...are you saying you want to return to Kirkwall?”

“Yes. We can investigate her and her resources while we gather allies.”

Richard nodded. “I can do more from Kirkwall. I have the Knight-Commander under my thumb, and she loathes mages. If one of the nobility is even suspected of being an apostate, she’ll raid the estate before I can even finish saying the word magic.”

“Well, I was thinking of being a bit more subtle, but I guess we could use the Templars to scare the crap out of her,” Ryon said.

_And I was thinking that Hawke would be perfect for the job,_ Sebastian thought. “So it’s agreed? Do we ride tomorrow?”

Richard and Ryon nodded.

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

 

_**Just outside of the Kirkwall Deep Roads entrance, 2nd of August, 9:32 Dragon…** _

Aspasia Hawke emerged from the Deep Roads entrance, followed by Anders, Fenris, and Varric. _Thank the Maker...we just ate the last of the food for last night's meal._ They all squinted at the sunlight, blinded by its brightness. Varric dropped to his knees and kissed the ground, muttering thanks to the Maker for delivering them from the bowels of the planet. And, unbeknownst to Aspasia, her brother's actions as a new Templar recruit had paid off; the welcoming party that Knight-Captain Cullen had planned for her was encamped miles away.

Anders and Aspasia looked at each other, unsure how to act. They were safely on the surface now, but the kiss they shared before encountering the rock wraith still weighed on them both. They hadn't had the time to be alone, to discuss what had happened, and that silence only muddied the waters more. _Is it okay for us to flaunt our feelings? Is it okay for two apostates to freely show their love, Anders thought._ Just as he decided that he was going to go for it—to wrap her up in his arms for a long, passionate kiss in front of their allies—she looked away and strode forward, assuming her 'tough cookie' persona again as she guided her friends back to Kirkwall.

Stunned, Anders watched as the trio walked away. _So that's how it's gonna be? Am I just to be her dirty little secret?_ He shook his head lightly as he trotted to catch the others. If that was going to be the nature of their relationship, he wasn't sure he could accept it…but it might be the only way he could be in a relationship with her at all. _If I have to sneak around to be with her, night after night, I'm…_ ANDERS. YOU CANNOT ALLOW YOURSELF TO BE DISTRACTED LIKE THIS. YOU MUST MOVE FORWARD WITH OUR PLANS. Anders nodded lightly to himself, acknowledging that Justice was right, as usual. Just as he was trying to steel himself for the heartache of cutting her out of his life—for both of their sakes—Aspasia looked back over her shoulder and winked at him. _Aw, Void. I can be her secret. As long as she is all mine._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting Sebastian's situation resolved! I had to get my cosplay game strong for DragonCon and have been interviewing for a new job. Anyway, the last part of this chapter is straight from Hawke's Journal, to establish the triangle Sebastian will eventually find himself in. The chapter did depart somewhat from my planned outline (thanks, Choir Boy), so Chapter 15 might take a bit to get out as I have to reconsider the impact of what's happened the last couple of chapters. Anyway, thanks as always for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. This really is a labor of love (this isn't a popular pairing) and I'm glad there are some of you out there who are enjoying the story. :)


	15. The Hurts that Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aspasia settles back into a daily routine; Richard is reminded of his true loyalties; Sebastian struggles with recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In "Hawke's Journal", a companion story to this series, I established an AU where Alistair and Aspasia had a brief romance shortly before Lothering's destruction. Although she is casually seeing Anders, she still pines for Alistair.

_**Kirkwall, 16th of August, 9:32 Dragon…** _

Aspasia and Leandra Hawke strolled through Hightown’s shopping district, weaving in and out of similar-minded Kirkwallers as they perused each merchant’s wares. _This is nice…just some girl time with Mother. Definitely need this after sleeping for nearly a week straight as soon as I got back. But Maker’s breath…when did the sun get so bloody bright?_ Leandra paused at a textile merchant’s booth, running her slender fingers over a bolt of velvet with a faraway look in her eyes.

“What’s wrong, Mother?” Aspasia whispered in her mother’s ear.

Leandra looked at her daughter with shining eyes. “It’s nothing, sweetheart, really. I just…” She suddenly pulled Aspasia in for a long, crushing hug. “I’m so glad you made it home safely, my darling girl. And thank you again for leaving Carver here for me…I’m pretty sure Gamlen meant to squeeze more money out of me, somehow.”

“But he joined the bloody _Templars_ , Mum,” Aspasia whined into her mother’s hair as she tried to wriggle free of Leandra’s crushing grip. _Damn. My old woman is way stronger than I give her credit for._

Leandra released her daughter, taking her firmly by the shoulders. “And it was that which saved your hide, girl,” she hissed. “He intentionally diverted Knight-Captain Cullen away from where you entered the Deep Roads. He and I spoke about this at length. He is in the Templars to protect you, Aspasia…to keep Cullen’s and Meredith’s heat off of you for as long as he can. Trust me, he is quite torn over this decision. He feels like he’s spitting on your father’s and Bethany’s graves.”

_Really? That selfish little shit did that…for me? Huh._ “I—I…” Aspasia stammered, unsure how to react. She looked at the bolts of cloth and gave a tiny _hmph_.

“Should go to the Gallows and kiss his boots? Yes,” Leandra chided, chuckling at the end.

Aspasia gave her mother a sidelong glance. “I’ll find a way to thank him, Mum. I don’t know how, but I will.”

Leandra took her eldest by the elbow, leading her away from the crowded merchant booths to a secluded corner. “You can thank him by not being an idiot. Stop hanging around that damned Anders. I don’t like him, Aspasia. I don’t trust him. He’s gonna get you in trouble, and I don’t mean the fun kind,” she growled, face stern.

“I’m a grown woman, I know what I’m doing,” Aspasia grumbled under her breath as she looked down and noticed one of her boots had come untied. “It’s not what you think.” She crouched, tying her boot lace and securing it with a double knot.

_If I keep on about this, I’ll just drive her further into his arms. Best change the topic._ “So you said the rest of the treasure you recovered should be sold this week…shall I petition the Viscount about the estate again?”

“Why can’t we just go back to Ferelden now? We’ve got the money,” Aspasia grumbled as she straightened back up, adjusting her robes.

“Lothering is gone, Aspasia. What is there to go back to?” Leandra said firmly, not considering the real reason why her daughter would want to go back. The wounded expression on Aspasia’s face cut deeply. “Oh…oh, _sweetheart_. I’m so sorry. I forgot. Why don’t you write to Alistair? Let him know you’re safe in Kirkwall?”

“I’ll do that tonight. Let’s go to the Keep. I’ll visit Aveline, and you can try to get in a word with the Viscount. Even if we do go back to Ferelden, it doesn’t hurt to have the estate back in our hands,” Aspasia said with a shrug.

Leandra smiled and clasped her hands together. “Oh, that’s a splendid idea. You haven’t been to see Avie since you returned…I’m sure she’s about this close to strangling you for it. Perhaps I’ll get to talk to that handsome Seneschal again. Bran, I think his name is. Have you met him?” She quirked an eyebrow at her daughter.

Aspasia nodded. “I had to speak with him regarding that little rescue mission I did for the Viscount. He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Total prick, though.”

Leandra shook her head and clucked her tongue at her daughter’s choice of words. Aspasia smirked and took her mother by the arm, leading her towards the Keep.

 

_**oOoOoOo**_

 

_**Cumberland, 3rd of Kingsway, 9:32 Dragon...** _

Richard walked into Cumberland’s tavern, The Yeoman, and sat at a table in the corner. Back in the days before he’d been sent to serve the Chantry, The Yeoman had been his favorite place to frequent. The tavern was small, but clean, and had recently gotten a new coat of whitewash on the plastered portions of the half-timbered walls. _Looks like they fixed the dent from when I threw a mug at… what was his name again? Ugh, I was such a stupid, boorish young man._ Sandalwood that had been thrown onto the roaring fire filled the tavern with a pleasant aroma. _Ah, how I missed you, dear Cumberland. I wonder what Lynne would think of it? Certainly a better place for Tristan than Denerim, that’s for sure._

As Richard imagined a future where he, Lynne, and Tristan could live happily ever after, one of the barmaids approached, clearing her throat to gain his attention.

“Oh! My apologies. I was off in a daydream, I suppose. Could I have a pint of ale, please?” Richard eyed the barmaid. She wore a plain green dress, white apron, and a white bonnet whose brim flopped in a way that covered most of her face.

“Of course, messere,” the barmaid replied. She paused, trying to get a better look at Richard without being obvious. “Er… would you also like to eat, by any chance?”

Without missing a beat, Richard replied, “You know, I am famished. Do you have ham? I’ve a terrible craving for it.”

The barmaid drew a quick breath. “We do. I’ll be back shortly.”

It didn’t take long for the barmaid to return, mug and plate in her hands. Richard watched her move around the tavern as he ate, noticing a distinct limp that she desperately tried to hide. The barmaid would occasionally sneak glances his way and she caught him watching her once, which he downplayed with a charming smile as he waved for another ale. Eventually, he finished the last of his meal, setting down his fork and knife, and almost before he’d finished doing so, the barmaid had appeared at his table.

“How did you find the ham?” the barmaid asked slowly, deliberately.

Richard looked up at the barmaid. “Delicious. It tasted of despair,” he said coolly.

The barmaid acknowledged his reply with a curt nod and walked towards the rear of the tavern. Richard waited a few moments, leaving coin to cover his meal on the table, and exited through the front door. He glanced furtively about for prying eyes before disappearing into the extremely narrow gap between the tavern and adjacent printer’s shop. After a good fifty feet of wriggling sideways through the pitch-black space, it gave way to a small clearing behind the tavern. There, the barmaid stood expectantly. She had removed her bonnet, and Richard sighed in relief as he finally recognized her.

“Sparrow,” Richard said with a grin.

The woman smiled warmly. “Falcon. It’s been too long. Sorry to put you through the ritual, but you’ve gotten pale, fat, and your hair’s too long--I had a hard time recognizing you.”

“Fat?” Richard looked down at his flat abdomen. “I beg to differ.”

“Relax, I’m only teasing… about the fat part, anyway. You still look like death and need a haircut. By the way, I was sorry to hear about Fordham’s death. He was a good man. I know you two were close.”

Richard pressed his lips into a grim line, looking somberly at the ground. “Indeed, Fordham was a brother to me, but he did his duty and fought to the bitter end. There is no finer death for a Seeker.” He let out a huff, and then looked up at Sparrow with a bright smile. “I am pleased to see you well, though. I heard you took a nasty hit in Nevarra.”

“I did,” Sparrow replied, hiking up her skirt to reveal that from the knee down, her left leg was gone, replaced by a prosthetic. Her skin under the metal brace was red and raw from chafing, and she winced as the cool air hit tender flesh. “Damned Vint hit me with an ice spell. I nearly dodged it, the bastard. The flesh froze solid and shattered when I hit the ground, no chance of saving it. I had to retire from more active assignments, but there are worse places to settle than Cumberland...take Kirkwall, for example,” she teased.

Richard chuckled softly. “True. Have you been briefed?”

“Of course. What have you learned?”

Richard told Sparrow all he knew about the coup and Johane Harimann’s part in it. “... To put it bluntly, we are all in grave danger until she is eliminated,” he concluded.

“You don’t know the half of it. My contacts in Markham said that a half-dozen men in Starkhaven colors arrived, presumably to kill the lot of you, but they got there just hours after you’d left the city.”

Richard was stunned by the news. He cleared his throat as he tried to regain composure. “We also had a run-in with an assassin just south of Markham. He used an arrow tipped with fleshrot and quiet death.”

Sparrow grimaced. “So I heard. As I understand it, if the city guards hadn’t let you in, Vael would have died. Once again, that man has got to be the luckiest sonofabitch in Thedas.”

Richard nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Do you know anything about the assassin? Was he also acting on Johane’s behalf?”

Sparrow rubbed the back of her neck. “As far as I’ve been able to learn, no. He appears to have been nothing more than a jealous lover--a stablehand of the Teyrn’s, just as you noted. If I learn more, I’ll let you know.”

“Good. We will leave for Kirkwall at once to kill Harimann.”

Sparrow’s face was suddenly grave, her eyes steely. “That is inadvisable, Falcon.”

“Why?”

Sparrow sighed and leaned against the stone wall behind her. “I think you’ve been on this assignment for too long. As a reminder, you are, by vow, an arm of the Chantry. You know damn well that the Chantry can’t be seen meddling in the affairs of sovereignties without cause. While Harimann isn’t technically in charge, it’s common knowledge that Prince Goran is helpless without her. Killing her could cause chaos not only in Starkhaven, but with recent events, it could lead to all-out war in the Marches. You would almost certainly be named a rogue agent if you act without the Divine’s permission. I would hate to have to kill you, Falcon. You’re too pretty,” Sparrow replied sternly, unable to keep a straight face at the very end.

“Oh, but to die at the hands of such a fair maiden would be a beautiful death,” Richard teased dramatically.

Sparrow flashed a half-smile. “You flatter me too readily, Falcon, but I thank you.”

Richard ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You’re right--I needed that reminder. I will send my petition today, and we shall remain here until the Divine responds. Vael needs to work on his strength anyway. Kirkwall is a savage city, and he needs to be ready for anything.”

Sparrow pushed away from the wall, placing a gentle hand on Richard’s shoulder, relief washing over her. “That would be wise. By the way, congratulations.”

“For what?”

“Finally having the balls to reconcile with Lynne and meet your boy,” Sparrow replied with a smirk.

Richard smiled warmly. “Thank you, Sparrow. We have a long road ahead, but I’m glad I came around as well,” he said as he walked away.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

****

**_Cumberland, 7th of Kingsway, 9:32 Dragon..._ **

_Twang…thunk!_

_Twang...thunk!_

Christian MacAllister stood in the entrance to the Cumberland Keep’s archery range. He looked on with pride as his archers went through their motions with near-perfect synchronicity. Among them, Sebastian stood stiffly, wearing the brown and red training leathers of Cumberland’s army, his near-shoulder length auburn hair wafting gently in the crisp autumn breeze. _I would never guess he’s Aidan’s son. That beard really hides a lot._ Christian turned to leave, but the rhythmic sound of arrows hitting their targets in unison was broken by the sound of Sebastian’s bowstring snapping back prematurely. The prince dropped the bow and clutched his right shoulder in pain. Alarmed, Christian ran to his side.

Sebastian grimaced in pain. “Och! I can’t pull the string again, Christian. I just can’t,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Christian picked up Sebastian’s bow, noting the heavy pull weight scratched into the wood above the grip. “How many shots have you fired today, Sebastian?”

“Um… five, maybe six?”

Christian quickly glanced at the archer’s quiver, then to the target, which hadn’t been hit once. “Are you sure? Your quiver is stuffed.” He noticed Sebastian was sweating profusely. “Are you alright? Perhaps you should go back home and rest.”

Sebastian sighed, mopping the sweat from his brow. “I’m fine, just… hurting. That was...that would’ve been my first arrow today. Maker’s breath, I’ll never shoot again, will I? How am I to rule, if I cannot demonstrate my worth in combat?”

Christian smiled gently. “You’ll shoot again, I’m sure of it. I’ve seen men hurt far worse come back to be just as strong, if not stronger, once their body heals.” Christian poked at Sebastian’s midsection; his leathers appeared painfully snug. “But this bow is one of the heaviest draw weights I’ve ever seen. Have you been doing any of the exercises I mentioned? I don’t mean to nitpick, but your leathers are looking mighty uncomfortable.”

“I… I haven’t. I never had to exercise, before. Archery and working in the Chantry kept me fit. Gardening, cleaning, moving things...it’s surprising how much work there is to be done in a given day. That draw weight was easy to pull, before.”

Christian chuckled. “Ah, lucky you. For the rest of us, we have to work at it a bit, and I suspect that now you’re getting older, you will as well. If you expect your body to take the strain of pulling a bow, you really need to be doing pushups. Maybe even go for a little swim in the public baths. And definitely scale down to a lighter draw weight. If you don’t, you’ll destroy your shoulders before you get your strength back.” He looked more closely at Sebastian, noticing that his hands were shaking. “You really don’t look well, Sebastian. Go home and rest. That’s an order.” He offered Sebastian his longbow.

“Aye,” Sebastian muttered, reluctantly taking his bow. “Thank you, Christian.” He walked away, head low, as the commander of Cumberland’s forces watched with growing concern. Once outside the Keep, Sebastian fumbled in his belt pouch, producing a small blue glass bottle. He pulled the cork and put the bottle to his lips for a tiny sip, only to find it empty. _Better get back to the herbalist for more of this stuff._ He hastened his pace, turning left toward the main street of Cumberland, rather than to the right, where the MacAllisters lived.

_Why train for combat? You need not involve bloodshed._

Startled, Sebastian quickly looked around. Seeing nothing, he shook his head and kept walking. The voice was the same one that had spoken to Sebastian in Markham. _Again? Maker, what is wrong with me?_ He spotted the herbalist’s shop sign and turned into the adjacent alleyway to avoid being seen. _I need to focus on what must be done to retake the throne, and I can’t do that if I’m in constant pain._ He stopped in front of a weathered pine door, knocking three times.

The door swung open, and the herbalist, who’d clearly been interrupted mid-task, appeared irritated. “Yes?”

“May I come in?” Sebastian whispered.

The herbalist stood aside as he opened the door wide. “Aye, no need for whispering, lad.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t mean to disturb you, but I need more of the stuff your assistant gave me,” Sebastian muttered, fumbling in his belt pouch and producing the empty bottle.

The herbalist plucked the bottle from Sebastian’s hand. “What’s this? I told him to give you a healing poultice,” the herbalist growled. “Bryce, get over here!” He shoved the bottle back at Sebastian.

The herbalist’s assistant shuffled over, ready to be dressed down by his boss. He frowned and folded his arms defensively when he recognized Sebastian.

“You were only here two days ago. I gave you enough tincture for a full week.”

Sebastian’s shoulder throbbed mercilessly. “Please, I’m in so much pain. I only need a little more, just for today, and I promise I won’t ask for it again.”

The herbalist rounded on Bryce. “What in the Maker’s name did you give him, Bryce?”

The young assistant looked down at his feet. “I gave him a tincture I’ve been experimenting with. It’s a blend of rashvine and poppy.”

The herbalist was stunned. “ _Poppy_? No wonder he’s back--he’s likely hooked on it, you fool!”

Through the haze of pain and heated voices, it took a moment for Sebastian to register the word _poppy_. When he finally realized what he’d been taking, he was transported back to Denerim, to The Pearl, to the night he held Shoshanna in his arms as her body shook from poppy smoke withdrawal. He dropped the empty bottle in his hand, terrified.

The sound of breaking glass caused the herbalist to pause. He then turned around, looking into Sebastian’s eyes with grave concern. _Dilated pupils. Flushed. Sweating. He’s been taking too much. If that bottle hadn’t run out..._ “Young man, you have no idea just how lucky you are to be standing here right now. I’m concerned that you’re going to feel rather awful for the next few days while your body flushes the poppy out of your system, so I’m going to mix up a tonic to ease the symptoms. Please, I have some tea over by the fire, freshly brewed. Drink some, and sit down while I work… before you fall down.”

The herbalist rummaged through his cabinet, plucking random bottles, pouches, and tins from his collection. Bryce, who had been standing off to the side, attempted to help by grabbing an empty flask.

“Bryce,” the herbalist said softly as he refused the flask. “I am sorry, but I have warned you about your reckless ways. Please leave, and never return.”

Bryce said nothing, simply nodding in acknowledgement before he stormed out the front door of the herbalist’s shop.

Dazed from withdrawal, pain, and fear, Sebastian shuffled over to the open hearth. A small cast-iron teapot hung from a hook just close enough to the fire to keep it warm. Sebastian used a thick flannel pad to grab the teapot and filled an empty cup. He slumped into a threadbare upholstered chair and sipped the steaming tea while he watched the herbalist work.

“I am very sorry, young man,” the herbalist said just loud enough for Sebastian to hear. “My former assistant could have killed you with that tincture. It is my responsibility to ensure you suffer no ill effects from it.”

Sebastian stared into the leaping flames. “As soon as I heard the word poppy… I had a dear friend who used to be hooked on poppy smoke. I remember how sick she got when she tried to stop using it. I also remember how she nearly died from smoking too much. Had I known that tincture contained poppy, I never would have used it, I assure you. I want nothing to do with poppy.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that,” the herbalist replied. “Poppy has ruined many a man’s life.” He poured a thick, black mixture into a vial, and gathered enough cotton squares to make several poultices. “Come, I need to show you how to use these remedies.”

Sebastian complied, albeit slowly. The herbalist showed him each item before placing it in a small canvas roll-up pack. “Alright. This tin is your poultice powder, and I’m giving you this special spoon to measure it. Mix two spoonfuls with as hot of water as you can stand until you have a thick paste. Put the paste into one of these cotton squares and tie it shut with the twine. Let the poultice sit on the part that hurts worst for at least two hours. Do this twice a day until you run out. It should last a fortnight.”

Sebastian nodded. “Aye, I think I can manage that.”

“Now, this vial is to help you get that poppy out of your system. Take two drops under the tongue at morning, noon, and night. I’m not gonna lie--it tastes horrible, and it’s gonna make you shit, and shit often. Drink plenty of water and try to eat foods that are easy on the stomach. No alcohol for at least the next week, not even small ale. You’re gonna sweat and feel pretty queasy for the first day or so. Hope you didn’t have any travel plans this week, son.”

Sebastian nodded. “We did, but they were tentative. We can easily postpone our trip. Thank you, messere.”

“It’s the least I can do, since that idiot could have killed you,” the herbalist said with a frustrated sigh. “You’d never have known it. You’d have simply lain down to sleep and never woke.” He rolled the canvas and wrapped the ties around it, securing them with bows.

Sebastian pressed his lips into a thin line. He grabbed the rolled-up pack and slid out of the side door, just as he’d come. As he walked through the alley towards the main thoroughfare, Sebastian stopped in his tracks. All around him, he could make out a faintly glimmering light.

“Are you the… the one I’ve been hearing?” he whispered.

_Yes._

“How is it that I can see you now, but never before?”

_The Veil is very weak here. I can draw energy from the Fade to manifest in a form you can see._

“The Veil? You’re a demon!”

_What’s a demon? I am only here to help._

“Oh, that’s… good, I suppose. I thought I’d gone mad from the poison when I started hearing you, honestly.”

_Your mind is fine. Your body will be as well, with time._

“How do you know that? Have you possessed me?”

_I am… within you, and have been since I brought you back to life._  

“Within me? What does that mean? What if I don’t want you around?”

_Then I will go, but I know not how to return to the Fade. I… would not survive long._

Sebastian hesitated. “I wouldn't want that, not if you saved me. Perhaps Richard or even my cousin may know how to help.”

_Thank you. In the meantime, perhaps I could remain within you? I cannot truly possess you if you are unwilling. You are safe._

“On one condition. What is this ‘true path’ you spoke of in Markham?”

_I remember no such thing, but I wish only to help you maintain your faith._

“You mean to say I should return to the Chantry?”

_Faith is… it is trust, belief in something. It is the obligation you have to that something, and exercising fidelity to that obligation._

“What if I’m not sure what I believe, anymore?”

_Agitating a pond temporarily makes it impossible to see what dwells within. One must wait for the water to settle before they can fish. Likewise, fear agitates your mind. Overcome your fears, your mind will settle, and your beliefs will be clear._

The shimmering light faded away. Sebastian stood in the alley for several moments, pondering the spirit’s words as they echoed in his head. _How does one let go of their fears if fear is all they know?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fret not, I'm not turning Sebastian into an abomination. If you've read Asunder, you may recall how Evangeline was saved. This is a similar situation, and only temporary. Also, do expect to get increasing Aspasia POV sections as I begin to introduce the relationship. As always, thank you for reading, and I appreciate all the feedback, even if I (often) forget to reply. <3


	16. The Answers We Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard receives a reply from the Divine. Aspasia and Anders come to terms with their relationship status.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Crossover sections from Hawke's Journal.

_** Cumberland, MacAllister residence, 15th of Harvestmere, 9:32 Dragon… ** _

A full moon rose over Cumberland, casting cold blue squares of light through the leaded windows of the MacAllister’s study. Unable to sleep, Richard sat in a blue velvet-covered wingback chair, flipping through a novel left on a side table by the fire. _Hard in Hightown...by...Varric Tethras. Hmm. I do believe he’s that dwarven associate of mistress Hawke. Interesting._

One of the MacAllister’s servants entered the study. “Ser Richard, there’s a woman here to see you.”

Richard nodded in acknowledgement, set the book back where he found it, and walked to the front door. Sparrow, still dressed from her shift at The Yeoman, thrust a small, black, leather-bound book into Richard’s hand. “You left this behind at the tavern tonight, messere,” she muttered before scurrying away as fast as her prosthesis would allow.

Richard returned to the study, locking the door behind him. He flipped through the book until he found a hollowed-out section containing a folded message. Under the message was a brief note, scribbled directly into the hollow.

_Sorry for the delay. H had to divert to Kirkwall first. Trouble’s brewing there. Stay safe. -S_

He frowned at the mention of trouble in Kirkwall and broke the letter’s wax seal, scanning the words quickly.

_Knight-Captain Richard:_

_I have received your request regarding the situation in Kirkwall. While I appreciate that your request has been made in a good-faith effort to keep a dangerous malificar from seizing power in the Free Marches, I must ask if you remember the parameters of your assignment._

_The late Divine Beatrix’s notes on this matter were quite clear that you were to protect Vael as long as he was a ward of the Chantry. Your assignment officially ended when Sebastian Vael renounced his vows of brotherhood. Therefore, I can find no merit in granting you the authority to act on this matter, and you must return to Val Royeaux at once for reassignment._

_Choose wisely, Seeker._

_Divine Justinia V_

Richard slumped in his chair, taking deliberate breaths to calm himself while he pondered his next move. _Great. I can’t go after Johane, nor is Sebastian capable of taking her on alone. And I… I don’t want to be reassigned. I can’t leave Sebastian now, not when he’s still vulnerable. Perhaps… I guarded him for years before he…_ He shot out of his chair, grabbed the candle holder beside him, and ascended the stairs toward Sebastian’s room.

The prince was sleeping soundly. “Sebastian. _Sebastian!_ ” Richard hissed, shaking the prince’s bare shoulder.

Sebastian roused slowly, rubbing his eyes and squinting at the candlelight. When he realized Richard was standing over him, he sat up with a start. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Yes… and no. We need to talk,” Richard said as he sat on the edge of Sebastian’s bed.

Sebastian yawned as he pulled himself into a more upright position, leaning back against his pillows. “Alright. So… talk.”

Richard handed Sebastian the Divine’s response and held the candle closer so he could read it. He watched Sebastian’s eyes dart back and forth as he read, noticing the subtle, sharp intake of air as he neared the end.

Sebastian let the letter fall to his lap as he fought back tears. _This is it, then._ “I don’t want you to be reassigned. I can’t do any of this without you, Richard. But I would not jeopardize your life for mine… at least not any more than you already have.”

Richard put his hand over Sebastian’s and grimaced. “You are capable of handling yourself, Sebastian, and the day will come where I cannot be by your side. But think about it. How many years did I guard you before you took your vows? I believe… if you were to rededicate yourself to the Chantry, and declare that you intend to retake your vows, the Divine might soften and allow me to remain in Kirkwall until you do so.”

Sebastian recoiled. “But I don’t want that! It would all be a lie. I’m not sure I can mislead the Grand Cleric like that.”

Richard arched an eyebrow. “You mean to say that you haven’t considered rejoining the Chantry since we left Kirkwall? Not once? Come on, Sebastian, we both know that’s bullshit.”

Sebastian frowned. “Well of course I have, but I made my bed. I renounced my vows. I have to live with that decision now.”

Richard shrugged. “The Grand Cleric has repeatedly left the door open for you to reaffirm yourself. Don’t act like you cannot return.”

“Very well. If you think it best, I will return to Kirkwall under the guise of seeking reaffirmation. Do you truly believe the Divine will then allow you to… intervene with Johane?”

Richard shook his head gently. “I’m not certain, no. She may still refuse. But I would feel much better by at least being in Kirkwall with you, when it happens. We need allies. We need to seek out that young lady--”

“Hawke,” Sebastian blurted. “I agree, we need her help to do this. I’ll reach out to her as soon as we arrive. How soon shall we leave?”

“The sooner, the better.” Richard leaned in for a look at Sebastian’s right shoulder. “I just realized I haven’t seen you without a shirt in weeks. I’m impressed by how much the herbalist was able to reduce the scarring. How is your mobility?”

Sebastian looked at his shoulder and began moving his arm around. “Better than before, if I’m to be honest. I’m not quite back to full strength, though. I still struggle to pull my bow, but I can pull others with no problem.”

Richard stood. “Good. You’ll need to keep up with your exercises when we get to Kirkwall. I do wish you had some actual combat experience, but perhaps we might resolve the Harimann issue without bloodshed.”

Sebastian yawned again. “That’s my hope as well. But that’s a worry for another day. Let us get rest.”

“Agreed. Goodnight, Sebastian.”

 

_**oOoOoOo** _

__****  
  


_**Kirkwall, Hawke Estate, 24th of Harvestmere, 9:32 Dragon** _

Aspasia sat in the study of her newly-reacquired estate, reading one of her father’s tomes on magic as the morning sun streamed through the window. _Bloody hell! Why aren’t there any spells to erase people from your memory? If I never thought about Alistair again, that would be ideal._ Aspasia scowled as she recalled the night she got the news about her former flame and his new wife, the Hero of Ferelden. _I feel terrible that I didn’t trust Anders when he told me… in the middle of our first date. And he’s done such an admirable job of keeping me completely occupied so I can’t have any time to myself._ She shook her head in self-admonition. _He means well. I shouldn’t project my anger with Alistair onto him. Varric and Izzy both want this so badly for us… surely I can be a little more open to the idea._

Leandra’s faraway voice called out; it was time to head over to the Chantry for services. Begrudgingly, she set her book down and went up to her bedchamber. There, she put on a simple green dress and fastened her favorite brocade waist cincher over the top. She tried to tame her curls, but quickly gave up. Finally, she dabbed a bit of rose salve on her lips and eyelids before jamming her feet into brown leather shoes and dashing down the stairs.

During the sermon, Aspasia looked around for Sebastian, as had become habit since her return to Kirkwall, but did not spot him. When the Grand Cleric gave her final benediction and released the congregation, Aspasia let out a frustrated huff. _I guess he didn’t return from his own travels._

“What’s the matter with you?” Leandra whispered hotly as she grabbed her daughter’s arm. “You didn’t pay a lick of attention throughout the entire service! It was completely mortifying, having a daughter whose head was darting about everywhere, looking for Maker-knows-what.”

“I’m just…I was just looking at the statues. That’s all,” Aspasia fibbed.

Leandra’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “That’s a pile of… _stuff_ … and you know it, Aspasia.”

Aspasia rolled her eyes as she yanked her arm out of her mother’s grasp. “Fine. I have a friend here, and I wanted to see him. I haven’t had the chance to let him know I’m back from the expedition.”

Leandra relaxed momentarily. “Oh, well— _wait_. Are you talking about that handsome young man who came to see you off on your expedition? The one who made you blush so much? Aspasia, you’re going straight to the Black Void if you even so much as think of a Brother in that way,” she grumbled.

Aspasia fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, unwilling to look her mother in the eyes. “No… I mean… well, _yes_. He is the one you speak of, but I don’t think of him in that way, Mother. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Andraste’s tits, I swear—“

“ _Aspasia Solona Hawke_ ,” Leandra growled. “You would say _that_ in the Chantry? I swear, someday, the ground is going to open up and swallow you whole for your tongue, girl.”

“Sorry, Mum,” Aspasia mumbled as she grew red. “But we talked about this…he’s the one who put out the bounty. The one whose family was slaughtered? His bodyguard came over a few times? In the middle of the night? Shoved me against the wall? Carver got pissed off? Remember _now_?”

“Ohh…you mean the Prince?” Leandra gasped as realization set in and she smiled. She clasped her hands in delight, visions of bouncing royal babies dancing in her head.

“Keep your voice down!” Aspasia hissed. “But yes, that’s him. You go on home. I’m going to ask the Grand Cleric where he is.” Aspasia got up from the pew and trotted over to Elthina, who was making her way up the stairs to her office.

“Grand Cleric Elthina? Could I have a word?”

The elderly lady stopped and looked over her shoulder wearily, as if this sort of thing happened every time she ascended the staircase. “Of course, child. Walk with me.” She waited for Aspasia to catch up before resuming her climb. Once atop the stairs, she opened the door to her office, gesturing for Aspasia to enter. As they settled into a pair of chairs by the fireplace, Elthina folded her hands gracefully. “What is it you seek?”

Aspasia gazed at her feet. “Well… I was wondering where Brother Sebastian is. He asked that I let him know when I returned safely from the Deep Roads.”

Elthina’s gray eyes crinkled as she smiled warmly. “Ah yes… you were off on a grand expedition, were you not? The Maker certainly watched over you carefully, to deliver you safely from such a treacherous journey. Anyway, after you left, Sebastian left to gather support for his claim to Starkhaven’s crown, and has yet to return. If he’s returning at all, that is… depends on how fruitful his travels were,” she muttered, frustrated.

Aspasia tried desperately to hide her concern, failing miserably. “So you don’t know if he’s ever returning to Kirkwall?”

“Well,” she said after several long moments, a sad expression overtaking her features, “He has been gone for nearly a year now, and I haven’t had a letter from him since Drakonis. Were I a gambling sort, my money would be on him not returning any time soon. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other obligations. It’s been a pleasure, Serah Hawke. So nice to see you at services again. Congratulations, by the way, on recovering the Amell Estate from the slavers. I know your mother must be pleased.”

Aspasia nodded and smiled. “She’s thrilled to have the family home back. The services were lovely as always. Thank you for your time, Grand Cleric. Good afternoon,” she said cordially as she exited Elthina’s office.

Aspasia managed to make it all the way out of the Chantry before tears started to prickle behind her eyelids. _This doesn’t make sense, why am I so upset? I barely know the man. Get a hold of yourself, Hawke._ She shook off the sudden flood of emotion and made her way down the long staircase. She had scarcely reached the bottom when a voice from behind spooked her.

“Hawke. What were you doing at the Chantry?” Anders demanded, his honey-colored eyes narrowing critically.

_Why were you lurking like that?_ “I was at services with my mother. Is it a problem that I go places with her?” Aspasia spun around, rolled her eyes, and kept walking. _You’ve managed to guilt me into spending practically every waking moment with you for weeks. I am allowed a few hours with my mother!_

Anders trotted to keep up. “No, no, of course that’s not a problem… I didn’t mean to sound like that. But I saw Leandra come out quite some time ago, so I was just wondering why you stayed behind. Is everything alright?”

“I was speaking with the Grand Cleric,” Aspasia replied simply.

Anders grabbed her arm, spinning her towards him. “About what?”

Aspasia yanked her arm out of his grip. “Does it bloody _matter?_ Did it ever occur to you that perhaps she took my confession?”

Anders looked confused, as though he wasn’t aware that he had grabbed her arm to begin with. He shook it off. “I didn’t realize that you’re such a devout Andrastian, sweetheart. I’m sorry if I offended you,” he muttered, a remorseful look in his eyes.

Aspasia scowled. _What in the Void? Must be Justice that makes him flip-flop like this._ “Not offended so much as annoyed, Anders. I think you forget, sometimes, just what we are.”

“And what _are_ we, Hawke? We’ve never gotten around to talking about it,” the rebel mage said as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Do we have to talk about this here?” Aspasia whispered, eyes darting around for Templars.

“Of course not. Let’s go down to my clinic,” Anders replied.

The couple made their way through Kirkwall in silence, with Aspasia keeping several paces behind to avoid suspicion, should any Templars spot them. They finally reached Anders’ Darktown clinic. He unlocked the door and ushered Aspasia inside, swiftly closing it again. He stood, pressed against the door as if to keep her from leaving.

“Alright. We’re here. So now… tell me… what are we?” Anders demanded.

Aspasia took a couple of steps back for breathing room and chewed on her thumbnail nervously as she thought. _I did NOT want to have this conversation. Not tonight, anyway. Oh well, best get this cleared up._ “Maybe we should talk in terms of what each of us wants, first.”

“Fair enough. Well, for starters, I want us to be exclusive,” Anders muttered as he pushed off of the door, approaching Aspasia and stooping slightly to meet her downcast eyes.

Aspasia met his gaze. “Not a problem… _I_ haven’t seen anyone else since I got to Kirkwall. But that goes both ways. No more doing whatever it is you do with Maria after clinic hours, you hear me?”

“Hawke, like I’ve told you—“

“Is _not_ what I’ve heard her and Serafina giggling about when I’m waiting around for you to finish with a patient! In fact, that’s _my_ request… no more lies.”

“ _Also_ goes both ways, Hawke,” Anders muttered.

Aspasia narrowed her eyes and folded her arms defensively. “What are you getting at?”

Anders matched her defensive stance. “Why were you really sticking around at the Chantry tonight? For all the things you’ve done since coming to Kirkwall, I would have expected a confession might last a couple of days.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you--I wanted to talk to Brother Sebastian,” Aspasia replied with a casual shrug.

“Well, that explains why you’re dressed like _that_ ,” Anders spat as he glanced over Aspasia’s outfit. “Why would you want to see him?”

Aspasia glanced down at her outfit, which was no different than what most Kirkwall ladies wore. _Dressed like what? A normal woman?_ “Before we left for the Deep Roads, he asked me to let him know when we returned. That’s all. Anders, really… he’s a Chantry brother. Besides, he isn’t back from his travels yet--you have nothing to fear.”

Anders propped himself up against a wooden pillar and sighed. “I just didn’t like the way he looked at you in Hightown before we went into the Deep Roads.”

Aspasia’s jaw dropped. “What? You and I weren’t even—“

“I know. I _know_ it’s not rational, alright?” Anders pleaded. “I just… Maker’s breath, Hawke. You really don’t know, do you?”

Aspasia was taken aback. She looked at Anders skeptically. “Know what?”

“The maddening effect you have on any man lucky enough to receive your attention. You’re intoxicating, love. Absolutely stunning,” Anders’s voice dropped to a whisper as he approached. She stared at him, bewildered. “And I just can’t help but feel I’m the luckiest man in Kirkwall when we’re together like this. I know I can be overly… protective, but it’s just that I… I care for you so intensely. I’m sorry. I just want so badly to make you happy. Would you let me try?”

Anders brushed the backs of his fingers across Aspasia’s cheek, gazing into her deep blue eyes as he smiled kindly. _He cares for me and, most importantly, he’s here. He’s not some fantasy man, living a charmed life… with his queen. Forget Alistair. Anders is more of a man than he could ever hope to be._ Unable to resist his sweet words, Aspasia melted into his touch, closing her eyes and sighing happily as a smile crept across her face. He gently grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close, resting his forehead on her mop of ginger curls.

“So can we be together? Officially? Can I start carving our initials in tree trunks?”

Aspasia threw her arms around his neck, nuzzling into his chest. “Yes… though I’ve noticed there aren’t many trees around here. Good luck with that.”

Anders chuckled, then slyly slid his hands down her hips, gripping them a bit more firmly. “Does that also mean we can—“

Aspasia tilted her hips, putting space between them. “No. I want to wait until I’m married for _that_ , Anders.”

“And I respect that you for that, truly,” Anders said through a fake smile. He muttered something under his breath before tenderly claiming Aspasia’s lips, but she was too love-drunk for it to register.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit that I do not care for Anders, because I find his personality in DA2 to be painfully reminiscent of my controlling, manipulative former spouse. My interpretation of his character is, unavoidably, made through that lens. One of the reasons I am including this subplot is that this fic is based on one of my playthroughs. In that playthrough I somehow managed to exploit a glitch that allowed me to romance Anders, dump him, and still complete the Sebastian romance as if nothing had happened. Usually, if you so much as even flirt with another character, Sebastian’s romance won’t trigger. I have other reasons, as well, which will become clear in time. ;)


	17. The Truths that Illuminate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sightings of "Starkhaven's Prince" spotted in Ostwick a few months back cause the Starkhaven rumor mill to run wild. Sebastian returns to Kirkwall and begins to understand just how much others have sacrificed to keep him safe, and realizes that perhaps he who lives in a glass house should not cast stones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: game dialogue in places.

_**Starkhaven, 27th of Harvestmere, 9:32 Dragon…** _

The sun was starting to dip behind the treeline surrounding the Craster farmhouse. Erick Craster tied down the last bundle of thatching on his barn and descended the ladder. “Thanks for the help, Will. Couldn’t have fixed this roof without you. Just in time, too,” he said with a relieved look towards the heavens. Tiny snowflakes glittered against the waning light.

Will Baxter admired their handiwork. “You’re lucky the entire barn didn’t go up after being hit by that lightning bolt.”

Erick looked over at his friend and grinned at Will’s dirt-smudged face. “Nice to see now that you’re a Lord, you’re still willing to get down and dirty,” he teased. “Come, Mary’s been roasting a lamb all day. You’re not leaving here with an empty belly!”

“Lamb? Oh, you know how to treat a friend, Erick,” Will said with a grin as the pair walked towards the Craster farmhouse. “But it’s not like the Prince handed me a sack of gold with the title. It’s pretty clear that Lady Harimann wanted me elevated in order to have a so-called ‘man of the people’ at her beck and call.”

“Lot of good that did last winter,” Erick growled as he recalled losing most of his flock of sheep due to the famine.

Will let out a frustrated huff. “I did my best. I was quite blunt with the Seneschal, Lady Harimann, _and_ the Prince. I told them not to trade away so much grain. Any farmer worth their salt had seen the signs that last winter was going to be harsh.”

“Do you know if they’ve made any changes to prevent the same thing from happening again?”

“I-I’m not sure. I’ve been left out of most discussions since last year. I guess they have no more use for the opinions of the people when it interferes with the flow of gold. And now, the Seneschal and Lady Harimann are back in Kirkwall for the winter. I have no idea who’s helping the Prince anymore.” Will rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

Erick rolled his eyes. “Captain Ramsay, I’m sure. He must have been behind that swift resolution of the Tantervale issue. There’s no way Prince Goran handled that on his own.”

“Agreed. I just wish there were somebody else to help the Prince--hell, I’d even take a whole new Prince, if it meant we didn’t have to deal with Johane Harimann and her bumbling offspring.”

Erick opened the door to the whitewashed farmhouse, gesturing for Will to enter. “If I show you something, will you swear to keep it a secret?”

Will furrowed his brow. “Craster, we’ve been neighbors for twenty years, and friends for twenty more. Of course.”

Erick led Will through the main sitting room and into a small study. Papers were strewn everywhere. He reached underneath one particularly tall stack and produced a small box.

“You remember my sister, Emily? Married that fella from Ostwick?” Erick whispered.

“I do, how is she? Haven’t seen her since… Maker, it’s been at least fifteen years.”

Erick opened the box. “Take a look at this letter she sent me a few months back.”

Will took the folded note from Erick’s bony hand.

 

_Dearest Brother,_

_I regret to inform you that your sister has been widowed. Poor Daniel was called to service by the Teyrn and died fighting for Starkhaven during the Tantervale invasion. If you could, please see to it that his body was burned, and the ashes buried so that he may rest. I will write more soon._

_Emily_

 

Erick took the note back, re-folding and replacing it in the box. He grabbed a second folded note. “When I asked the at the palace about retrieving Daniel’s body, nobody knew what I was talking about. They didn’t have any record of any alliance with Ostwick, nor of any soldiers sent this way.”

“What in the world is she on about, then?”

“That’s a good question, and one I asked in my reply. Here’s her explanation.” Erick handed Will the second note.

 

_Dearest Brother,_

_How could you not know that your own city was under attack? Anyway, to answer your question, the Teyrn sent supplies and men to Starkhaven as part of a marriage contract with your Prince. Handsome fellow, and a skilled diplomat, too. You’re lucky to have him. But the betrothal was called off. Don’t know why the Teyrn upheld his part of the contract. I dare not ask any more questions about it--I’m starting to get some nasty looks down at the tavern. Once I get everything wrapped up with the estate, I’d like to come visit for a while. The children miss their cousins._

_Emily_

 

“Yesterday, Emily’s carriage was found about a mile south of the East Gate,” Erick said softly as Will handed the letter back to him. “Burned. Four bodies inside.”

Will’s jaw dropped. “Maker’s breath, Erick, I’m so sorry. Who would do such a thing? Who is this fellow masquerading as our Prince, and what really happened to the Ostwick contingent?”

Erick shrugged as a tear slipped down his dirty cheek. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet we can find something out at the tavern. Madeline knows everything.”

Will put a comforting hand on Erick’s shoulder. “I’m feeling mighty thirsty. Let’s head to the tavern after supper.”

_**oOoOoOo** _

__

_**The Waking Sea, 29th of Harvestmere, 9:32 Dragon…** _

Ropes and timbers creaked rhythmically as a giant caravel sliced through the waves of the Waking Sea, bound for Kirkwall. Below the top deck, Sebastian and Richard took a simple meal of salt pork, hard biscuits, and ale.

“Eat, Sebastian. We aren’t due in Kirkwall for several hours, yet,” Richard urged.

“I’m trying, but… I’m just so queasy. I hate sailing. I wish Ryon could have joined us,” Sebastian muttered between bites of the painfully salty meat.

Richard chuckled at Sebastian’s discomfort and dunked a biscuit into his tankard of ale to soften it, frowning when the hard disc refused to comply. He gnawed at it anyway, too hungry to care. Frustrated when he made no progress, he tossed the disk into a corner, where even the rats ignored it. “Trust me, Sebastian, when I say it’s for the best that he didn’t. He took a huge risk in leaving Cumberland to join us in Ostwick. The only way he managed it is because he has tons of old friends in the southern Marches. Friends that didn’t believe the Harimann’s story about his involvement for one second. Friends that will eventually put you on the throne. I hope you realize that the Teyrn didn’t uphold his end of the marriage contract out of the goodness of his heart. But, unfortunately, for such a worldly general, he has no such friends in Kirkwall.”

“Oh,” Sebastian muttered, his voice barely audible as the weight of yet another favor owed caused him to hunch over his plate.

Richard nibbled at the last chunk of his salt pork. “I don’t mean to make you feel guilt for what he’s done, Sebastian. He’s doing these things because he feels they’re the right things to do, as do any of the people who support your claim. Has the Vael clan had its hiccups over the years? Of course, but overall, your family has provided six generations of stability and prosperity. The majority of the people would not see that change. What we must defend against after Johane is dealt with is the relative power vacuum. Goran is too vulnerable. You must be prepared to swoop in like a knight in shining armor and rescue Starkhaven before some upstart that Johane raised decides he’d be best for the throne.”

“But what if I have to kill her to save Starkhaven? If I do that, I’m no better than she… the pursuit of power at the worst price.” Sebastian shuddered hard.

Richard shrugged. “All I can say is that we are at a critical point, and the future of many rest on your shoulders--whatever you decide.”

Sebastian stared at his plate for several tense moments. Finally, he leveled a gaze at Richard. “What would you do?”

Richard took a deep breath and pressed his lips into a thin white line. He held the breath for a moment, before speaking quickly, as though the ability to do so would leave in an instant. “Kill her with my bare hands.” He looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. “And because I feel that strongly, I have decided that I will recuse myself from the Harimann situation. I cannot risk misrepresenting the Chantry in this matter.”

“Good. I wasn’t going to let you risk your neck for me. Well, not any more than you already do,” Sebastian said with a nervous chuckle. “I guess it’ll be Mistress Hawke to the rescue again.”

“That’s assuming she survived her expedition,” Richard retorted.

Sebastian sighed. “True, we don’t know if she’s even in Kirkwall anymore. But Kirkwall is still full of cutthroat mercenaries and refugees. Surely I can find a few to accompany me on such a simple task, if Hawke is unavailable.”

Richard nodded. “Just remember that Johane is likely a mage of considerable power. You should look for apostates to accompany you, as much as it pains me to suggest such a thing.”

“Good to know.” Sebastian paused, staring off at one of the barrels in the hold. “Richard?”

Richard looked at the auburn-haired man quizzically. “Yes, Sebastian?”

Sebastian looked around for prying eyes or ears, though he knew they were alone. “What do you know of… spirits?”

Richard braced himself. _I’ve been dreading this question._ “Surprisingly little, given my occupation. Why do you ask?”

Sebastian folded his hands in his lap, staring them as he whispered. “I… uh… I’ve been having a little bit of an issue since being hit by that arrow. There’s a…  voice… and it speaks to me, sometimes. It says it’s not a demon. Could it be a spirit?”

Richard sighed. “I was wondering what happened to the spirit that resided within that healer in Markham. I’ve read as much as I can from the book he had, but my Tevine is horrid, so I didn’t learn much. I need to find a translator when we get to Kirkwall.”

Sebastian looked up, eyes wide with fear. “Can it hurt me? What can I do to be rid of it?”

“I’m not sure. We must speak with First Enchanter Orsino.” The deck above began to rumble with frenzied activity. “Are we preparing to drop anchor? I know the winds were favorable today, but I didn’t think we were sailing that fast. Come, let us go up top. If we are indeed at Kirkwall, I want to be on one of the first runner boats. I do not wish to be stuck on here for another night.”

“Runner boats? Are we not docking?” Sebastian asked as he followed Richard up the steps.

“This ship is far too large to fit in the docks, see?” Richard said as the pair emerged onto the top deck, just in time to see the ship’s anchor splash into the deep blue-green water. Around them were several other caravels, and the harbor teemed with small boats running passengers and cargo between the ships and dock.

Sebastian looked around and shuddered. Despite the beautiful blooming sunset, Kirkwall’s harbor was lined with sharply angular Tevinter statues that he found disturbing. He grabbed the ship’s railing as the vessel lurched, its anchor finding purchase in the sandy harbor bottom. Minutes felt like hours as the crew urged passengers and cargo into smaller boats that could safely dock. Finally, Sebastian and Richard descended a ladder and settled into the runner.

Richard smirked as the boat rocked with the waves. “Are you alright, Sebastian? You look a little green. Well, more green than you have been on this trip, anyway.”

“I’m fine, it’s just--” Sebastian clutched a hand to his mouth and leaned over the rail, emptying his stomach into the harbor.

Richard twisted his face in disgust. “Smaller vessels do tend to get tossed about by the waves much more. Thankfully, we should be in dock momentarily.” Richard frowned as Sebastian threw up again. “Tell you what--you go lie down once we get to the Chantry, and I’ll try to contact Hawke.”

Sebastian barely managed a nod before vomiting again.

_**oOoOoOo** _

__

_**Kirkwall Chantry, 30th of Harvestmere, 9:32 Dragon…** _

A sharp pair of knocks startled Sebastian from slumber. Richard entered the room and was surprised to see Sebastian still laying in bed, rubbing his eyes.

Richard closed the door, leaning against it. “How are you feeling? You’ve been sleeping since we arrived last evening. I was beginning to worry that you were affected by something more serious than a case of seasickness.”

Sebastian sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and stretching. “Much better, thank you. I think it was just having a quiet place to lay my head again. I didn’t sleep well on the ship.”

“Nor did I. But perhaps I’m used to sleepless nights from watching you,” Richard teased.

Sebastian stood and rolled his eyes. “Did you find Hawke?”

Richard pushed away from the door and approached Sebastian. “Yes, and she was happy to see me. She’s been worried about you.”

Sebastian was taken aback. “Worried?”

Richard shrugged. “Well… maybe more like keenly interested to know if you’d left for good. Seems you made an impression on her. She said she’d be here at noon, and it’s nine now. Now, go speak with the Grand Cleric. If I’m going to write yet another letter to the Divine, I’ll need Elthina to sign off on it. I’m going to see if I can find someone in the Circle to translate this book on spirits, so I’ll catch up with you this afternoon.”

Sebastian pulled on a tunic. “I still don’t feel good about this, Richard. I’m not sure I can lie to Elthina about my intentions.”

“You lied about your intentions to every single other person in the Chantry, including Lynne, for years. I don’t see how this is so different,” Richard spat, irritated.

Sebastian gestured for Richard to turn so he could change into his leather trews. “I… I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because Elthina reminds me of my Gran. I never could lie to my Gran.”

“Well, it is up to you. I guess I’ll begin packing,” Richard growled as he approached the door. “Wonder if I can make it out of here by sunset…”

Sebastian angrily pulled up his trews, tucking his tunic into the waistband. “Fine. If it’s so important to you to stay in Kirkwall--”

Richard sighed as his hand touched the doorknob. He shot an anguished look towards Sebastian. “It’s not! It’s important to me to keep you _safe_! I know I’ve never said as much, but I consider you a son, of sorts,” he admitted.

Sebastian pulled on his scalemail and smiled as he began fastening the front buckles. “Likewise, for both you and Ryon. You two are all I have, besides the Chantry. That’s why it was hard to leave Ryon in Cumberland, but now that I know how dangerous it would have been… I will speak with Elthina, Richard. No need to pack. But I need to go to the barber first. She despises long hair on men, and I don’t want to risk losing her favor. I’ll be back before noon, I promise.”

Richard nodded reverently and left Sebastian’s quarters.

Sebastian finished donning his armor and looked in the mirror mounted above his wash stand. _I will miss this look, but better to be clean-shaven as well._

The sun tried its best to bake away the morning chill, but the flurries swirling around Sebastian’s feet reminded him that autumn was quickly giving way to winter. He walked through Hightown and made his way to Lowtown, through winding alleys and streets until he reached the barber, who had conveniently set up shop near The Blooming Rose. _Barbers are brilliant, really. Pop in to the brothel, visit the barber to clean up… the wives of Kirkwall surely have no idea what their husbands get up to._ He shook his head and opened the barbershop door.

The barber, a balding dwarf, came out from the back at the sound of the door’s bell. “Good morning! What can I do you for this fine day?” he boomed, his voice deep and gravelly.

“I need a shave and haircut, please,” Sebastian announced as he settled into a chair.

“ ‘Tis a crime to rid yourself of such a fine, full beard, young man,” the barber teased as he wrapped a protective drape around Sebastian’s shoulders. “And your hair length is quite popular. Why would you intentionally make yourself look unfashionable?”

Sebastian stared at himself in the mirror. “I am joining the Chantry, and while longer hair and beards are not forbidden, the Grand Cleric dislikes such looks.”

The barber began running a comb through Sebastian’s wavy locks, tugging it through the snags. “The Chantry? Why would you do such a thing to yourself?”

Sebastian grimaced at having his hair pulled. “Aye, that is a long story. The short version, however, is that it is the best place for me to make the most of my life.”

The barber picked up a pair of finely-crafted scissors. “Well, that’s certainly honorable, young man. Now, how much hair would you like cut off?”

Sebastian let out a huff. _Welcome back, Brother Sebastian._ “Just above chin length. I brush it back with a bit of wax.”

The barber gathered Sebastian’s hair into a low ponytail. “Alright, have it your way, though I still say it’s a shame to chop these wavy locks.” He snipped the length off before Sebastian could say a word.

As the barber performed his handiwork, Sebastian was lost in thought. _I can still feel Tamsyn’s hands running through my hair that one night we managed to finally sneak a kiss. I miss--no. I was lucky to learn of her wickedness before the marriage. Better to live life alone than with a liar and a cheat._ His face twisted with sadness.

“Oh, boy. I know that look. I thought you’d regret cutting your hair. But it’s too late now, young man. I can’t glue it back on, you know,” the barber chided.

“Oh, no, it’s not that, I just… was thinking, that’s all. Please, continue. You’re doing excellent work,” Sebastian muttered. _A liar and a cheat. That’s all I was, for many years. I judged her for being exactly the type of person I was at her age. Have I learned nothing from the Chantry? How can I say I walk in the Maker’s grace when I’m so quick to judge his children? Maker, I forgive Tamsyn. Help her find peace… and help me learn tolerance._

A couple of hours later, Sebastian entered the Chantry, twisting his face as he adjusted to the cool autumn air striking his skin directly after so long. _Now I know why beards are so fashionable back home._ He spotted Elthina standing in front of the giant statue of Andraste, and trotted up the stairs to catch her before she left.  

“Good morning, Grand Cleric,” Sebastian said with a respectful bow.

Elthina spun around and clasped her hands in delight. “Sebastian! It’s so wonderful to see you. I was just wondering if I’d see you today. I’m so sorry we didn’t have your room prepared--we weren’t expecting you until this morning.”

Sebastian waved dismissively and smiled warmly. “No apologies needed. I am just glad to be back. I understand we caught unusually favorable winds at sea, and arrived much earlier than anticipated. I’ll finish making up my room this afternoon.”

Elthina returned the smile briefly, before returning to her usual stoic demeanor. “So… how did you fare on your travels? Am I to call you Your Highness now?”

Sebastian swallowed hard as flashes of all that happened--Denerim, Tamsyn, the poisoned arrow, the spirit--darted through his mind. “My travels… went well, but I return with more questions than answers, I’m afraid. And for that reason, I have decided to forgo my claim to the throne. I would love nothing more than the chance to reaffirm my vows and return to the Chantry.” _Maker, forgive me._

Elthina reached behind her, clutching the railing as if she were about to faint. She reflected on his request for a tense moment. “My, my… this… is _unexpected_ , Sebastian. But if you are committed to this path, I am more than happy to guide you back to Brotherhood. You do understand, of course, that this will take time. I do not wish for you to rush into vows, only to break them again.”

Sebastian again bowed deeply. “Of course, Grand Cleric. Thank you, for everything. Once I gain justice for my family’s murders, I will do anything you require.”

Elthina’s face quickly twisted, and her gray eyes flashed with anger. “Gain _justice_? You mean to say that having the blood of dozens on your hands isn’t enough? Why did you bother coming to me, to the Chantry?”

 _Shit. I really shouldn’t have mentioned anything about justice…_ “As I said, I wish to reaffirm my vows. Just because I seek justice for my family doesn’t mean there needs to be more bloodshed, nor do I want--”

“When will this end, Sebastian? At what point does your need for justice outweigh the sins you’re committing?” Elthina demanded, loud enough to catch the attention of everyone in the lower part of the Chantry. Everyone was so fixated on the pair, none noticed Hawke slip in. She watched with the others, glad to see Sebastian was safe, but also reflecting on what Richard had told her. She slowly made her way up the steps to the dais.

Sebastian paced in front of the huge statue of Andraste, twisting a hand in his hair. “I thought it would end here. Mistress Hawke destroyed Flint Company. None remain. Yet… now that I know who sent them, it's harder to see their deaths as justice.”

“Death is never justice,” Elthina chided.

Sebastian stopped pacing in order to respond, finally noticing Aspasia standing at the top of the stairs out of the corner of his eye. “I--Hawke! We were just talking about you!” _Maker, thank you for bringing her back from the Deep Roads safely._

Hawke winked at Sebastian. “Saying good things, I hope?” She bowed her head reverently towards Elthina.

Elthina acknowledged Hawke’s gesture with a nod and smile. “Many people in Kirkwall have good things to say about you.”

Sebastian folded his arms. “I've learned who hired Flint Company--the Harimanns, a noble family of Kirkwall. They were my parents' allies. It's hard to believe they betrayed us like this.”

Hawke pursed her lips. Harimann. _That name’s familiar. Hmm… Wait! The favor for Meeran!_ “I think I've met Lord Harimann,” she muttered.

Sebastian sighed and shifted his weight. “Lord Harimann used to be a good man, but he became rather strange in his dotage. He died some years back. His widow took over the family. Lady Johane Harimann. They say she's become quite reclusive of late.”

Hawke furrowed her brow. “Any idea why they turned on you?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Money? Power? It's hard to say. Lady Harimann was always jealous of my family for being royalty when hers were mere nobility. But I can't imagine that pushing her into outright murder.”

“This is why the cycle of violence never gets broken,” Hawke said with a dramatic sigh.

Elthina folded her arms and frowned at Hawke. “You jest, but that's the truth.” She turned towards Sebastian, placing a cautioning hand on his shoulder. “Give this up, Sebastian. Dedicate yourself to the Chantry, as you swore.”

Sebastian looked down towards Elthina with remorse. “I must speak with Lady Harimann and find out what drove her to this madness. But I am the last of my line. I should not go alone and make myself a target.” He and Elthina both looked to Hawke.

Hawke’s eyebrows shot up. “Why's everybody looking at me?”

Elthina leaned in close. “If this allows Sebastian to make peace, it is worth doing. You've taken on lesser… _causes_ ,” she hissed.

Sebastian furrowed his brow, aqua eyes pleading. “Please. I have no one else to turn to. If you like, I can travel with you until we confront Lady Harimann. Otherwise, you can always find me here in the Chantry.”

“If it will help you and your family find peace, I’m more than happy to assist,” Hawke replied.

Satisfied, Elthina nodded gratefully towards Hawke and left her and Sebastian to discuss the matter further. _The less I know, the better. If this allows Sebastian to rejoin the Chantry with a clear conscience, Maker, guide his path._

Once Elthina was out of earshot, Hawke grew serious. “Of course, you can join me. I think it would do you some good to get out of here once in awhile. But I must ask--what can you do? I’m certainly not making you a target unless you can defend yourself.”

Sebastian looked over his shoulder at his bow. “You already know that I’m an archer of considerable skill. I’ve also trained with sword and dagger. I’m perfectly capable of defending you, as well as myself.”

“Very well. I do have a job to do tonight, if you’re up for it.”

 _Tonight? So soon?_ Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and Sebastian swallowed hard. “I am. When will you need me?”

“I’ll pick you up just after sundown,” Hawke replied, eyeing Sebastian up and down. She peaked one eyebrow. “Please tell me you have less conspicuous armor.”

Sebastian looked down at the armor his father had commissioned. “I… Wait. What’s wrong with this?”

“It’s too… shiny,” Hawke said with a smirk.

Sebastian frowned. “Well, it’s all I have, and it’s dragonbone. It’ll have to do, I’m sorry.”

“Okay… but just for the record, I let you know that your armor may make you a target,” Hawke shot back with a teasing wink.

Sebastian returned a lopsided grin as he finally realized she’d been joking. “Noted. And thank you, Mistress Hawke.” _A tease. She just has to be a tease._

Hawke folded her arms, looking up at Sebastian with a serious gaze. “Please, just don’t get yourself killed tonight, okay? That’s the only thanks I need. I really don’t need to have _that_ particular conversation with your bodyguard.”

“I will do my best, milady,” Sebastian said with an exaggerated bow.

“Great. See you tonight.” Hawke smiled weakly and walked away.

_Longer hair now. Thinner figure. Too thin. Looks tired. Her face is a face that’s seen too much. What’s happened to her since I’ve been gone? Maker, please show me a way to keep her gentle soul safe from this place… if it’s not too late._


	18. The Battles That Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's first time accompanying Hawke doesn't quite go according to plan. Plans are made to replace Johane.

**_Kirkwall, 30th of Harvestmere, 9:32 Dragon…_ **

Sebastian stared intensely out of the small window in his quarters, his breath quickening as the sun began to dip below the horizon. He swallowed hard and turned towards his bed. He picked up his dagger, checking the sharpness with a scrap of parchment. Satisfied, he slid the blade into the sheath on his hip. Next, he counted the arrows in his quiver before pulling the strap over his head and adjusting its position so he could easily reach it in battle. _Thirty arrows...I will have to be dead accurate with each shot. No room for error._ Finally, he ran a hand along his polished ash bow, feeling for any defects in the wood, before picking it up. He walked towards the door, hesitating as his fingers brushed the knob. _Maker, please forgive me for what I may do tonight. May we complete our mission peacefully, but if that is not possible, please give me the ability to protect my friend from harm._ Sebastian pulled the door open and slipped out before he could change his mind.

Moments later, he had scarcely exited the Chantry when a voice yelled from the bottom of the grand staircase.

“Vael! I was wondering if I’d have to come drag you out of there! Come on!” Hawke grinned, the sunset’s warm light bathing her in a golden, almost ethereal glow. She was dressed far differently than usual; studded black leathers, with her lower half barely contained in a leather strap skirt. She’d lifted the armor set from one of the gang members she’d dispatched the night before.

Despite his nerves, Sebastian found it impossible to keep from smiling at the sight of her, and he scrambled down the stairs as quickly as he could in his armor.

“Nonsense, I was merely making sure I had enough arrows, Hawke,” Sebastian said as he and the petite ginger began walking away from the Chantry. “So, where does adventure take us tonight?” If Hawke picked up on the slight waver in his brogue, she didn’t give any indication.

Hawke tugged at her armor skirting in a futile attempt to gain more coverage out of the leather strips. “Well, first, we need to stop by The Hanged Man to get Fenris and Anders. Then we’re off to squash a pesky gang that’s been making Hightown dangerous at night.”

Sebastian watched Hawke fidget with her armor, bemused. “Oh? You travel with that many companions?”

Hawke sighed in resignation and kept walking. “Always. I’m a squishy mage, as is Anders, so we need Fenris to keep enemies from swarming us,” she said, over her shoulder, as Sebastian failed to register that she’d gotten ahead of him.

“And what role do I play in all this?” Sebastian asked as he quickened his strides to close the gap between them.

“Eye candy,” Hawke deadpanned.

Sebastian spluttered. “What?”

“I’m kidding. I need you to hang back and pick off any archers they may have. I also rely on my archers to spot any traps and unlock any doors or chests we may come across.”

 _Traps? Locks? What have I gotten myself into?_ “Sure, anything you need, Hawke, consider it done.” He smiled despite his burgeoning anxiety.

Hawke grinned. “You know, Sebastian, I never cease to be surprised by you. I think we might work well together!”

“Likewise, Hawke.” Sebastian drew in a long breath of the chilly evening air. “And it feels good to be out of the Chantry. I only hope I can manage to spread the word of the Maker on our adventures.”

Hawke flashed him a funny smirk, shook her head, and the pair walked in relative silence until they reached The Hanged Man.

“Wow. So it’s literally named after a hanged man,” Sebastian noted as they approached the tavern.

“You really don’t get out much, do you?” Hawke said with a laugh.

“I’ve never really taken the opportunity to go this far into Kirkwall. I’ve tended to stay in Hightown.”

Hawke spun around, arms stretched wide, in front of the tavern. “Well... welcome to Lowtown, love!” She dashed back to Sebastian, sapphire eyes glittering in the fading light. “Do keep your wits about you--there are cutpurses who will snatch the clothes off your back before you even know what’s happened.”

 _Is she always this… bouncy? Jovial? Seems odd, considering the gravity of tonight’s mission._ “Noted,” Sebastian said as Hawke opened the door. The smell of stale ale, mingled with straw and smoke was familiar, almost comforting. Unlike most taverns he’d been in, Kirkwall’s bar was brightly lit and pleasantly clean. Patrons were scattered about; some at the bar, some at tables, some standing in small groups as they chatted. In the far corner, a snowy-haired elf and a blond, haggard man stood, both with arms folded defensively. It was immediately apparent that they hated each other, but were obviously loyal to Hawke, as they both lit up as soon as they spotted her sauntering across the room. Sebastian recognized both men from the day Hawke left for her expedition. _It’s good that she has such trusted friends who stick by her side. I wonder if she might ever consider me as such?_

“Sebastian, do you remember Fenris and Anders? They went on the expedition with me.”

Sebastian smiled and extended his hand towards the elf. “Aye. Greetings, gentlemen, I am--”

“Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven,” Fenris said in a gravelly tone as he shook Sebastian’s hand. “We’ve heard much of your troubles.”

“About time you joined us,” Anders spat, arms still folded. “We’ve certainly put our necks out enough on your behalf already.”

“Anders,” Aspasia hissed. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Isn’t it? As I recall, you took a nasty hit from one of those Flint bastards, and you’ve been assaulted by _His Highness’_ bodyguard more than once. It’s about bloody time he put in a little effort into fixing his own problems!” Anders glared at Sebastian, who could have sworn he saw the mage’s eyes change to a blue color for the briefest of moments.

“Anders, that is absolutely uncalled for!” Hawke growled, eyes flashing with anger. “Sebastian, I apologize—”

Sebastian waved her off. “No, he’s absolutely right, Hawke. I put far too much of a burden on all the people who have been willing to help me, including you and your companions. It’s why I volunteered to travel with you.”

“Andraste’s tits, who lit all the torches in here?” Varric boomed from the top of the staircase. He descended, all swagger and charm, taking his place beside Hawke. “Oh, it’s you! Choir Boy, right?”

 _Choir Boy?_ Sebastian extended his hand once again. “And you are…?”

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” he replied, shaking Sebastian’s hand. “Say, didn’t we meet a few years back? Middle of the night, you were sneaking through Hightown? You were supposed to come here and buy me a drink after I told you how to get here?”

Sebastian looked at the dwarf quizzically for a moment, and then the memory of the night he left the Chantry came flooding back. He grinned. “Yes! And I’m more than happy to honor that promise, even though I no longer need refuge here.”

Varric flashed a lopsided smile. “Great! We’ll have that drink as soon as I get back from my little mission with Hawke, here.”

“Um, Varric, about that…” Hawke muttered with an awkward grimace.

“What’s wrong? Contract get cancelled?” Varric asked sarcastically.

Hawke rubbed at the back of her neck as she stared at her boots. “No, it’s that... um... you’re not coming with. Not tonight, anyway.”

Varric gasped. “Not coming with? Who else are you going to get to pick your locks?”

Sebastian cleared his throat.

“You? Choir Boy?” Varric asked incredulously before turning back to Hawke. “I can’t say I’m not glad to be missing out on the near-death experience, but I certainly hope he can hold his own in battle!”

Hawke placed a reassuring hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “Relax, Varric, this mission is simple. We’ve already decimated the Invisible Sisters—we just need to take out their leader to finish the task. Then Hightown will be safer at night.”

“But it’s a gang headquarters. Traps! Locks! My bread-and-butter!”

“I’ve picked a few locks in my day, Messere Tethras,” Sebastian spat. “I’m not without skill. And I would appreciate it if you don’t speak about me as if I’m not here.”

“You’re right, that was rude. I’m sorry,” Varric admitted. “Do you have a pick set? Can’t imagine the Chantry looks kindly on such items. I have an extra if you need.”

“I’d greatly appreciate borrowing your set, if you don’t mind,” Sebastian said with a mischievous smile. “You are correct in that the Chantry does not like such things. My set was confiscated long ago, back in Val Royeaux.”

“You got it,” Varric replied as he handed over the set from his belt. “Hawke, if you get into trouble, I’ll be around.”

“Thanks, Varric. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” Hawke said softly.

“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t forget that Bianca needs to get out for some fresh air once in awhile,” Varric replied with an easy chuckle as he patted his crossbow.

“How could I? Look at her. She’s made for this stuff,” Hawke teased.

Varric walked back to the staircase, pausing at the bottom. “Yeah, yeah... get out of here. Take care of that Gillian character before she gets wind of your coming,” he said as he shooed Hawke and her crew away.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

From behind some conveniently placed barrels, Hawke and her companions watched the front door of what should have been an abandoned Hightown mansion.

“Ok, so it looks like the Invisible Sisters are holed up here in this abandoned manor. If this place is like most Hightown estates, there’s gonna be a foyer, and then a main hall with a big dual staircase that creates the perfect perch for ranged attacks. Any archers or mages will be perched there. Sebastian, concentrate on those thugs. Fenris, you and I will charge in first, do the heavy hitting. Anders, you’re on healing duty, but if Sebastian gets overwhelmed, cover him,” Hawke whispered.

“Choir Boy’s backup, brilliant,” Anders muttered under his breath as he glowered in Sebastian’s general direction.

“Are you sure it’s wise for you to charge in with me, Hawke?” Fenris asked, arching an ebony eyebrow.

“Relax, Fenris. Gillian can’t have more than five or six people left after we took out that huge group last night.”

“If you say so,” the elven warrior grumbled.

“Sebastian, I need you to watch for traps, especially pressure plates. Before Fenris and I charge in, you’ll need to scan the main hall for us, is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Sebastian spat, swallowing hard. _How hard can spotting traps be?_

Hawke flashed a quick smile, and began to approach the front door. Her smile quickly faded, and she was all business as she rapped sharply on the door. Fenris yanked Sebastian back behind the barrels, out of sight, before a small window in the door slid open.

“Yeah?”

“Numquam cedam," Hawke whispered, praying her information was good.

The window slid shut and the door began to slowly creak open. Hawke looked around, as if to make sure she wasn’t followed, and stepped inside. Moments later, a bright flash was followed by a thud, and then Hawke stuck her head out of the door, beckoning her companions to come inside.

Sebastian snuffed, impressed, and led the way.

 _Scan for traps, then we’ll go in,_ Hawke mouthed as she gestured between herself and Fenris.

Sebastian nodded once and crouched at the door to the main hall. Peering through the keyhole, he scanned the floor for any abnormalities. Spotting nothing, he stood and gave a thumbs-up.

Hawke grinned as Fenris took the lead into the main hall with a fierce battle cry.

Moments later, the elven warrior tugged helplessly at his left leg, which had been snagged in a claw trap Sebastian failed to spot. Undaunted, Hawke froze in place and began firing lightning bolts at the gang leader, Gillian.

Sebastian stayed back, as he’d been instructed, noting that there were four enemies lined up along the railing above the main hall. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, raised his bow and sighted down the shaft. He hesitated only a moment before loosing his arrow, but it was just enough for the enemy archer to evade the shot. As she recovered, the archer set sights on Fenris, who had just broken free of the leg trap. Her arrow found purchase in his dominant sword arm, causing him to drop his greatsword just short of a massive strike against the gang leader. Gillian quickly capitalized, running the elven warrior through before he could recover. Fenris fell with a pained cry, and Sebastian wasn’t sure if he was dead or just unconscious. Anders shot him a nasty scowl, and he began to focus his energy on healing the fallen elf, but he quickly abandoned the effort in order to keep his attackers at bay. Sebastian’s face grew hot as he looked towards the center of the room. Hawke was casting spells so quickly that she was practically dancing, enveloped in glowing, twisted ribbons of light. The sight was as frightening as it was breathtaking and he wanted to watch her, but an arrow whizzing by his ear reminded him that they were still very much in the heat of battle. With a new arrow nocked, Sebastian quickly raised his bow and finally fired his first shot as part of Hawke’s crew. The arrow flew true, striking the Invisible Sister right between the eyes. Any regrets he might have felt at taking her life were quickly replaced by anger and self-preservation as another archer’s missile bounced off his chestplate. He quickly fired off a lethal shot, then another, picking off the ranged fighters in moments. With that threat resolved, Sebastian focused his arrows on the mob of fighters closing in around Hawke. Between his arrows and her lightning strikes, the Invisible Sisters didn’t stand a chance. Before Sebastian knew it, the last of the Invisible Sisters perished with a guttural groan.

“Does anybody need healing?” Anders asked as he glanced around the room at the others.

Fenris, who had merely been unconscious, woke and scrambled to one knee, desperately grabbing a vial of red liquid from his belt pouch. He downed it, then another, panting as the potions took effect. Anders began to cast a healing spell. “Do not,” Fenris growled towards the apostate. “I do not wish to be tainted by your filth.”

Anders shrugged and began helping Hawke, who was checking the bodies for any gold or other loot to be had. He rubbed at her back with a glowing hand, gently healing her as she scavenged.

“If you see anything that may help you, feel free to take it,” Fenris muttered as he slowly got to his feet. “I can’t do a thing with any of the archers’ bows, for example, but you might find them useful.”

“Thanks,” Sebastian said, still dazed by how fast everything had happened. “I’m sorry I missed the trap, Fenris. I hope you’ll be alright.”

“I’ll live. Perhaps you should look over the traps, now that they’re sprung,” Fenris offered, though it came across more as a command that rang with an overtone of _don’t fucking do that again, idiot._

Sebastian nodded and crouched by the triggered pressure plate in the floor. He lifted up on it and found the mechanism itself was small, hidden by a false tile. He cut a wire and plucked the trigger from the device, tucking it into his belt pouch. _I guess I’ll just take this with me. Perhaps Richard knows how such a device can be disarmed._

“Hey Sebastian, come here. I found a locked chest,” Hawke called from one of the rooms on the upper level.

Sebastian trotted up the stairs, grabbing a stuffed quiver along the way. He peeked inside the only open door, where he found Hawke rifling through papers on a desk. She gestured her head towards a green chest in the corner. Sebastian pulled Varric’s lock pick set from one of the pouches on his belt and knelt down by the box to study the lock. _Looks fairly straightforward. Perhaps this is one thing I won’t screw up tonight._ He scrutinized the picks, selecting three he felt would get the job done. After several minutes of wiggling, jiggling, and cursing, the gold lock finally clicked and fell open.

“‘Tis the work of a moment,” Sebastian said proudly as he stepped aside for Hawke. Anders rolled his eyes.

“Wow, glad you got this open, Sebastian,” Hawke said sarcastically as she held up a pair of simple cloth gloves. “Real treasure, these are.” She began laughing, but Fenris and Anders stormed out of the room. “Don’t pay them any mind. They were hoping for more of a payday for all the trouble the Sisters have given us.”

“Surely that cannot be the only chest. Come, let’s look again,” Sebastian offered, determined to prove his worth. Moments later, he caught sight of a glint of metal behind some books on a shelf. Sure enough, the books were a false front, revealing a second chest. He began the process of picking the lock but unlike the first chest, this one was much more complex. Just as he thought he was about to move the last tumbler, the pick broke inside the lock, jamming it. “Damn,” he growled.

Hawke tried to hide her disappointment, but failed miserably. “It’s okay. Come on, let’s head out.”

Sebastian and Hawke sauntered through Hightown, basking in the cool moonlight as they made their way back to The Hanged Man. Feeling Sebastian’s eyes upon her, the ginger mage looked up towards the archer, who quickly looked away when he was caught.

“Are you going to be alright, Sebastian? You’ve been looking at me funny since we left the hideout.”

Sebastian stared at his feet as they walked. “I...uh...yes. I will be, I think. You…I mean…I knew you were an apostate from the moment I ran into you by the Chanter’s Board. The staff kind of gives you away, you know. But I—I’ve never _seen_ a mage use their talents, let alone in combat. The Circle mages in Starkhaven always—“

“Crafted potions? Enchanted jewels and weapons? Turned the ugly family members into toads?” Hawke’s giggle was almost musical.

Sebastian smiled shyly, his cheeks burning. “Right… _that_ …”

Hawke reached up to put a gentle hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if my spellwork frightened you, Sebastian,” she said, sapphire eyes earnest.

Sebastian automatically clasped a hand over hers, drawing it back as soon as he realized what he’d done. _Mind your familiarity, Vael! You are a man of the cloth again!_ He continued walking, faster than before, Hawke taking awkwardly long strides to keep up. “No…no, it’s not that.” He stopped walking again, looking at Hawke with a awestruck gaze. “Watching you cast spells…you practically danced, encircled by...light, it seemed, and it was...beautiful, really. You know, I met a cousin of mine on my travels. She has magic, like you, but she chose to go to the Circle because she was too scared to live as you do. I never realized the dangers you face just to live free. She, and now you, have made me realize how wrong I was about magic. What you do…it’s amazing, and no different than my skills with the bow or Fenris’ with a blade. I feel such shame, branding all mages as _maleficarum_ , especially when you and my cousin Cerise have done nothing but good with your gifts. It’s a hurtful label, rooted in ignorance and cowardice. Can you ever forgive me?”

Hawke’s face twisted with concern. “Of course, Sebastian. I do not blame you for the way you were taught to think of magic. What matters is that you have never treated me differently for the way that I am, at least not yet. I mean, I know we haven’t known each other long…”

“But I look forward to getting to know you better, Hawke. You’ve been a true ally, and I hope you and I will become friends now.”

“I do too,” Hawke replied brightly. She linked her arm in Sebastian’s. “Come, let’s get to the tavern and have some ale. The Chantry _does_ let you have ale, right?”

“Mistress Hawke, I’d have died of thirst long ago, if they didn’t,” Sebastian deadpanned, and the pair chuckled.

At last, they arrived at The Hanged Man, where Fenris and Anders had arrived about thirty minutes prior. The elven warrior was deep into his cups of wine, but Anders still nursed his first mug of ale. The mage’s head whipped so sharply at the sound of the opening door that Fenris heard the vertebrae pop. At the sight of Hawke and Sebastian arm-in-arm, Anders shoved back from the bar, bumping Sebastian’s shoulder hard as he stormed out of the tavern.

“Anders—” Hawke blurted, but it was too late.

Sebastian turned, watching Anders as he stomped away. “Do you need to go after him? He seems upset by something.”

“He’s upset about you, to be honest,” Hawke said softly, a faraway look in her eyes.

“Me?” Sebastian asked, incredulous. “What did I do?”

“You exist, and you have a penis,” Hawke sighed.

Sebastian facepalmed. “Wait, you mean to say...he’s jealous? Of _me_? Why?”

Hawke shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. He’ll cool off. He always does. Let’s have a toast!”

“To what?”

“To your return, and to you retaking your land. Or something. I don’t care, I really just want a drink,” Hawke admitted.

Hawke led Sebastian upstairs, to Varric’s quarters, where they were quickly joined by Fenris. Norah, the barmaid, took their order and sashayed away.

“You were away from Kirkwall for quite some time, Sebastian,” Fenris slurred as he finished his second bottle of wine.

“Aye, much longer than I thought. Didn’t even get to Starkhaven,” Sebastian replied. Norah returned with drinks, and Sebastian took a long, satisfying pull from his tankard.

“How did you learn who was behind the murders?” Fenris asked, looking over his cup of wine with wary emerald eyes.

“I spent a considerable amount of time in the eastern Free Marches — Ostwick, specifically — during my travels. I was about to return to Starkhaven when we received word that my cousin had married Lady Harimann’s daughter, Flora. My father had… trouble… with Lord Harimann, and that trouble continued well after Lord Harimann’s death. Once we heard of the marriage, everything clicked. Lady Harimann must have been the root of this evil all along.”

Hawke twisted her face in confusion. “I — I’m baffled, Sebastian. When we parted ways last year, you were bent on retaking your rightful place. Now, if I understood your discussion with the Grand Cleric yesterday, you’re back with the Chantry? What changed your mind?”

“Now that… that is a tale for another day, Mistress Hawke,” Sebastian said with a sad smile.

“Oh, it’s not all that dramatic, Sebastian,” Richard boomed as he strode into Varric’s quarters. “The Chantry is simply providing safe haven while we gather allies, in exchange for a sizeable endowment from the Vael family. A business transaction, nothing more.”

Sebastian shot Richard a glare, but quickly flashed a warm smile before anyone else noticed. He stood, extending his hand. “Richard! I was just about to return to the Chantry, as soon—”

“No rush, Sebastian,” the Seeker replied, relief washing over him as he clasped his charge’s hand. “Besides, I’ve been aching to meet your new companions.”

In an instant, Sebastian knew precisely why Richard had arrived unannounced. _He’s checking up on me. Making sure I’m not fraternizing with anyone who might damage my reputation._ “Of course! Where are my manners? Richard, this is Fenris… Varric… and I believe you’ve met Mistress Hawke,” Sebastian said as he gestured towards his companions. “Friends, this is Seeker Richard Kendrick, one of my guardsmen and a trusted friend.”

Pleasantries were exchanged as Richard took a seat beside Sebastian, watching Hawke closely. Her slightly bemused expression said _I told you I’d keep him safe._ The Seeker gave a barely perceptible nod of thanks before stealing Sebastian’s ale and downing the remainder.

Richard slammed the empty tankard down. “So, I take it you completed your mission this evening, Mistress Hawke?”

“Indeed we did, and Sebastian proved an invaluable asset to the team. He did have a few… hiccups along the way, but nothing that can’t be overcome.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“He missed a pressure trigger in the floor. I got caught in a leg trap and knocked unconscious by one of our enemies,” Fenris grumbled, rubbing at his sore leg.

“Traps? I didn’t think they were commonly used this far south. My apologies… Fenris, was it? I’ll see to it that Sebastian is better prepared.”

“I managed to grab the sprung trigger, if you’d like to take a look at it,” Sebastian offered, producing the mechanism from his belt pouch. “This was under a false tile.”

“Hmm, I see,” Richard said as he looked at the device. “For a trap such as this, the important part is learning to recognize false tiles in the floor. Simply lift the tile and remove the trigger, just as you did to take this one with you.”

“How would I know a false tile from a real one?” Sebastian asked, exasperated.

“They usually sit a bit higher than the tiles around them,” Varric offered. “Sometimes they’re a slightly different color, too, so the people who set them can avoid tripping them. It’s… an experience thing, Choir Boy,” he said with a shrug. “You’ll learn, it just takes time.”

Sebastian flashed a grateful smile at the dwarf.

Fenris seemed to accept Varric’s explanation and visibly relaxed. “So long as he learns. Perhaps next time the abomination will be the one trapped.”

“Fenris…” Hawke cautioned.

Fenris raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, Hawke. I know--”

“We also had an issue with a lock,” Hawke groused, before Fenris could say anything more.

“A lock? Now that, I’m genuinely surprised at. This young man has sprung locks across the Marches, just to—”

“That’s enough, Richard,” Sebastian said curtly. “I just broke a pick inside of it. It happens.”

“Ah, that’s a problem with some of the Tevinter locks we see here in Kirkwall,” Varric chimed in. “You can’t brute force a pick into that last tumbler, they’re too fragile. You have to buy it dinner, sweet talk it a bit, maybe pour a little wine in ‘er. Then she’ll open right on up.”

Richard snorted, failing to hide his amusement. “I like you, Varric. You don’t pull punches at all, do you?”

“Nah. I call ‘em like I see ‘em, and then I usually write a book about it,” the dwarf said with an easy smile.

“So I’ve heard. Hard in Hightown, right?”

“It’s one of my best sellers. Have you read it?”

“No, but a colleague’s wife absolutely loved it. Kept a copy in her library, out for all to see. I flipped through it, but I’m not much of a reader, I’m afraid.”

“Ah. Pity. I’d have thought you’d identify with one of my main characters, Donnen.”

Hawke’s face grew stern. “Donnen? Varric, did you write a story about—”

“SHHH! Maybe I did! And if you don’t keep your voice down, I’m bound to wake up to an angry Guard-Captain standing over my bed!”

“Oh, I’ll see to that personally,” Hawke giggled, shaking her head as she finished her ale.

Richard chuckled. _These folk seem alright. The elf is a bit of a wild card, but even he seems to have decent intentions._ “So, aside from the trap and lock, the mission went well?”

“Very, considering Fenris was knocked out for all of it. Sebastian did an admirable job of picking off enemies, even as they closed around me. His accuracy is a thing of wonder,” Hawke replied, gazing intensely at Sebastian. “It’ll be nice to have another archer that I can call upon.”

Varric took a swig of ale. “Yeah, sometimes my duties with the Merchant’s Guild keep me from going with Hawke. She has another rogue at her disposal, but—”

“She’s a dagger specialist,” Hawke said with a shrug, quickly looking down at the table. Richard suspected there was more to the story. “I take her when I know I won’t need ranged support. Unfortunately, most of the merc bands around here not only have archers, but apostates as well.”

 _A female dagger specialist? How have I not learned of this person before? Best do what I can to keep her away from Sebastian until I can find out more about her._ “Sebastian has trained with sword, shield, and daggers as well, should you need,” Richard offered. “In fact, I would like for you to take him on missions where he’ll need to use those skills, lest they get rusty.”

“Are you trying to get me killed, Richard?”

Richard shrugged. “Quite the opposite, in fact. If you’re going to be Prince, you need to sharpen your skills. What better way than in combat?”

“Trial by fire,” Fenris slurred.

“Trial by fire,” Sebastian grumbled as he went to take a sip of ale, but found the tankard empty.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Kirkwall Chantry Gardens, 2nd of Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon…_ **

The morning sun climbed ever-higher into the sky as it burned off the early winter chill in the air. The Kirkwall Chantry was peaceful, save for the occasional metal-on-metal sounds ringing out from the gardens. Within the hedges, Sebastian and Richard practiced their swordsmanship, decked in heavily-padded suits and wielding dulled practice swords.

“I’m still pleasantly surprised at your performance with Mistress Hawke the other night,” Richard said as he evaded Sebastian’s slow overhead strike, recovering smartly and swatting the archer’s midsection with his practice blade. “Got you. Again.”

Sebastian grimaced as the dull steel struck what could’ve been a fatal blow in actual combat. He shook it off, and the pair readied to face off once more. Rather than charge in this time, Sebastian waited for Richard to come, holding his practice sword at the ready. The Seeker smirked and thrust out as if going for the abdomen, swiping upward at the last moment and tapping the inside of Sebastian’s dominant arm. “Oh come on! How do I defend against that?”

“For starters, you never, ever just… stand there. You need to be in constant motion. A moving target is harder to strike. But, if you hold your elbows further down, and closer to your body, a strike like mine would be far easier to defend against. Like so,” Richard said, dropping his own blade to help adjust Sebastian’s.

Sebastian smirked and tapped Richard’s abdomen with the tip of his sword as he approached. “And you should never, ever assume that a rogue like me plays by the rules,” he said with a laugh.

“Fair enough,” Richard conceded, grinning. “I think that’s enough practice, anyway. The sun is high overhead. Surely that means it’s soon time for lunch.”

“Most likely,” Sebastian said as he nodded in agreement. Richard plucked his blade from the dirt. “Say, Richard…”

“Richard,” the Seeker replied sarcastically. Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Fine, what is it?”

Sebastian looked around for potential prying eyes and ears. “I think it is nearly time to confront Johane, before spring arrives. We don’t want her returning to Starkhaven, where she will have Captain Ramsay and who knows how many crooked nobles to back her?”

Richard leaned in close, his gray-green eyes shining with concern. “I agree, but are you ready? She may have considerable defenses here as well. Plus, we need to deal with the likely power vacuum after her death. We need someone in place, already in Goran’s ear, before she is… deposed. It will make your transition much easier.”

“You mean before she is killed. It’s okay to say it,” Sebastian said quietly. “I… I think that would be best, actually. I don’t wish to engage in civil war with my own cousin. I either return peacefully, or not at all.”

Richard’s sense of triumph was only overshadowed by his concern for the situation. “With your blessing, Bryan and Elizabeth are prepared to return to Starkhaven.”

“Bryan? What good could he possibly do?”

“He helped your brother in his duties as Seneschal for years, and Elizabeth is a baroness in her own right, with a sizeable fortune courtesy of your father.”

Sebastian furrowed his brow. “My father?” _Maker’s breath, I hope she wasn’t one of his mistresses._

“She was widowed when her husband was caught by Johane’s thugs. Ewan was a spy, and passed along valuable knowledge — knowledge that saved your life. For her husband’s service to the crown, Aidan gave her five thousand gold as she left for Cumberland with Ryon’s family.”

“I see… and what we really need is allies amongst the nobility…”

“Precisely. You know how charming Bryan is. He should have no problem putting Goran at ease.”

“Very well. Send a message to Cumberland. Meanwhile, we will wait to confront Johane. I want to give Bryan enough time to get in Goran’s ear.”

“Smart. You may also wish to ask Mistress Hawke if she has any companions who have experience dealing with demons and blood magic. Do let me know if any of her companions actually practice such wickedness.”

“I will. I shall go to her this evening,” Sebastian replied. Butterflies swirled in his stomach. _Am I ready to be Prince? Will the people accept this black sheep of a son with open arms?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo, lovelies! It's been a while. Life got crazy again, but while I have a lull, I wanted to get this chapter out since it only needed a final once-over. Hopefully, I can get the next two chapters out in relatively quick succession and end Act II. Thank you, as always, for all the love and support, and welcome to any FF.net transfers! (I had to pull my fics from that platform as I had some serious security concerns.)


	19. The Masks We Wear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bryan and Elizabeth return to Starkhaven. Sebastian consults Orsino regarding his "passenger". The situation with the qunari grows increasingly tense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Game dialogue in places.

**_Starkhaven Palace, 21st of Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon…_ **

“This place feels so... lifeless now,” Bryan muttered as he and Elizabeth walked through the main hall of Starkhaven’s palace, led by a pair of guards in gleaming silverite armor. “Princess Andra always had a way of making the main hall so warm and comforting. The palace was a place to see and be seen… there were always people milling about. Hard to believe that was just two years ago.”

Elizabeth fussed over fifteen-month-old Ryan, who was trying to squirm out of her arms and walk for himself. “I never got to visit the palace while they were alive,” she whispered, looking about in awe of the carvings and stained glass. Baby Ryan tried to capitalize on Elizabeth’s distractedness, but she quickly snuggled him closer to her chest, clucking her tongue in disapproval.

“You really missed out,” Bryan replied, chuckling at Ryan’s antics. “Perhaps Sebastian will restore the palace to her former glory.” They began to ascend the grand staircase leading to the study and library, among other rooms. Each footstep echoed through the empty hall.

“Don’t mention that name here,” Elizabeth hissed. “Not yet, anyway.”

Instinctively, Bryan began to ascend the second flight, which led to the royal family apartments. He quickly corrected himself and fell back in step with Elizabeth. “Right, sorry.”

The taller of the two guards stopped in front of a large mahogany door, knocking sharply. The door opened a crack. “Bryan and Elizabeth Thom, here with a letter for the Prince.” The door swung wide. Bryan and Elizabeth stepped forward cautiously. Prince Goran sat behind a massive gilded desk which dwarfed him. The Starkhaven crown was perched cockeyed on his head, holding down fine mousy-brown locks.

“Your Highness,” Bryan said with an exaggerated bow. “Thank you for granting us an audience,” he said, gesturing towards Elizabeth, who was already in a deep curtsy, still fiercely clutching Ryan to her chest.

“You alluded to having a letter for the Prince?” Brennan MacSwain asked Bryan coldly, seeming to recognize the young man in some capacity, but saying nothing.

“I do, Lord MacSwain,” Elizabeth said, offering the letter to the Prince.

“I will read it for His Highness, milady. It is my job, after all,” Brennan grumbled as he snatched the letter out of Goran’s hands. The young Vael glared at the Lord, but offered no argument as he knew any attempt to read in front of others would end disastrously. Brennan did not read through the letter first, but read it aloud straightaway, his face blanching ever-whiter as he progressed.

 

> _To the new Prince of Starkhaven:_
> 
> _If you are reading this, then the damned rebels have succeeded and I am dead. The following is my final proclamation as Prince of Starkhaven._
> 
> _Whereas, Ewan MacNair was elevated to the Barony of Rannoch on the 15th day of Solace in 9:31 Dragon Age, and he and his heirs shall enjoy full benefit of his title and lands in accordance with Starkhaven Law._
> 
> _Whereas, on the date of his elevation, Ewan MacNair was married to Elizabeth of House Brydan, and they were expecting their first child imminently._
> 
> _Whereas, Ewan MacNair was found dead on the 16th day of Solace in 9:31 Dragon Age, murdered by traitors to the crown._
> 
> _Whereas, Elizabeth MacNair is henceforth styled as Baroness of Rannoch until her death. Should the Baroness remarry, her new spouse shall not use the title of Baron, nor would any issue from this subsequent marriage be eligible to inherit the Barony. Should the MacNair’s only child predecease the Baroness, the title shall be vacated and lands forfeited to the crown upon the Baroness’ death._
> 
> _Signed on this 16th day of Solace, in the year 9:31 of our Dragon Age._
> 
> _Prince Aidan Vael of Starkhaven_

Brennan began to crumple the proclamation, but thought better of it, instead tossing it at the Prince. He leveled a cold stare at Elizabeth. “You claim to be Elizabeth MacNair, yet you go by the surname of Thom? Where have you been all this time?”

Elizabeth didn’t flinch under MacSwain’s hard gaze. “I fled to Cumberland after my husband’s murder for fear of my baby’s life. While there, I remarried so my child would not openly be called a bastard. The Chantry has record of both my former surnames. Go ahead, write to the Grand Cleric,” she retorted, jaw set in defiance.

Brennan let out a derisive snort. “Fine. I’ll grant you the title. But you cannot possibly think you can leave Starkhaven, come crawling back years later, and instantly recover the Rannoch Estate. Those lands have been redistributed by the Prince — to _ME_ ,” Brennan growled. “Besides, this proclamation can hardly be legal. There is an established process of proclamations and notations in the records not only here, but with the Chantry as well. This process is to prevent precisely this mess — where Aidan clearly was forced to bestow a title under duress.” He gave Ryan a disgusted look. “Now, why don’t you two take that whining bastard and get the hell out of my city?”

While Brennan MacSwain attempted to bully the Thoms out of Starkhaven, Goran had been clutching the proclamation in one hand, gently tracing his finger over Aidan Vael’s wax seal with a faraway look on his face. “I believe _I_ reserve the right to accept or deny a proclamation. You are dismissed, Lord Brennan,” he said quietly.

“But Your Highness, Rannoch is my—”

“Dis. _MISSED_ ,” the Prince stammered, mustering all of his courage to stand up to the hulking Lord. Brennan MacSwain gave his Prince a curt nod and rushed out of the study in an angry huff. “I apologize,” the Prince continued in his slow, careful diction as soon as the study door slammed shut. “I am more than happy to honor Uncle Aidan’s proclamation. I hope you understand that it may take some time to restore your lands. You and your family are welcome to stay in the guest apartments, if you like, Lady Elizabeth.” He came out from behind the desk and inspected Bryan closely. “You… you look familiar.”

Bryan looked down at the garnet rug under his feet, cheeks burning. _Maker, let Goran be as fond of his cousin as he was his uncle..._ “I… I was a close friend to Gavin,” Bryan admitted softly. “I spent a lot of time here at the palace.”

Goran’s eyes lit up with excitement. “That’s right! You used to train with Captain Ryon. I watched you from my room whenever we’d visit the palace. Say… rumor has it that you and Gavin—”

Bryan snuffed softly and shook his head. “True, all of it. I mean, unless those rumors involved ritual sacrifice or some nonsense.”

Goran chuckled for a moment before growing somber. “Gavin was always kind to me. He always used to say we were more alike than any of the other Vaels, because we were strange. I never saw him as strange, though, just a friend. My only friend, really. I miss him so...” Goran trailed off, blinking hard.

Bryan offered the young Prince a hug, and Goran wrapped his arms around him fiercely as he dissolved into tears. “He’s all ours,” he mouthed to his wife with a knowing wink.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Kirkwall, Templar Hall, 15th of Haring, 9:32 Dragon…_ **

Orsino examined Sebastian, circling around him with his hands behind his back, large elven eyes studying the young prince carefully. He paused, placing his hands on Sebastian’s shoulders and closing his eyes. Orsino drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes once again. “The spirit is as it claims to be — one of faith. You are most certainly blessed, young man. Spirits of faith are not easily found, let alone lured across the Veil. How was it that you came to have this… passenger?”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “I — I believe a healer in Markham transferred the spirit to me in his attempt to save my life. I nearly died from a poisoned arrow wound.”

Orsino let out a long breath, looking out of his window. “Well then… I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do to separate the spirit from you,” he said sadly.

Sebastian approached the First Enchanter, whispering hotly in his ear to keep anyone outside from hearing him. “What do you mean, you can do nothing? The spirit itself said that if I find a tear in the Veil, it can go back to the Fade! Make a tear, and it can go home!”

Orsino glared over his shoulder. “Do you have any idea what you ask of me, Sebastian? You act as though a tear in the Veil is as easy to accomplish as unbuttoning a shirt, to say nothing of the ritual to separate a spirit from flesh and blood! The massive amount of lyrium alone would have the Knight-Commander in a tizzy, to say nothing of… _other_ materials! No, I will not open a tear in the Veil because you don’t like having a little voice reminding you of your place. You will simply have to learn to live with it.” He folded his arms and resumed looking out his window.

Sebastian threw his hands up in frustration. “Fine. I guess it’s a good thing I’m a brother of the Chantry. Faith comes as easily as breathing, most days.” He reached for the door knob.

Orsino spun around. “Sebastian, wait. It’s the other days that concern me most. Do you know why a spirit of faith is so rarely found?” Sebastian shook his head. “It’s because they are the most easily twisted. I’m sure you’ve seen it within the Chantry — people whose faith began honestly, but somewhere along the way that faith became something to use as a bludgeon, to judge and punish.”

“Far too often, I’m afraid,” Sebastian muttered as he nodded. _Sister Petrice? Definitely._

Orsino grabbed a weathered tome from his bookshelf, deftly flipping pages as he spoke. “Faith, for those people, has gotten twisted into pride.” He stopped on a page with an illumination of a terrifying demon. He tapped his finger on the demon’s face, scanning the text on the facing page. “When this happens to a spirit of faith… it becomes a pride demon. A pride demon is the most fearsome of demons.” He closed the book, looking deep into Sebastian’s eyes with grave concern. “You must maintain a humble faith, lest the spirit twists inside of you. I’m afraid you would not survive such a change.”

Sebastian backed away from Orsino, his face twisting in confusion. “What are you saying? That I’m an abomination like Anders?” he asked with disgust.

_I told you that I cannot possess you in that way. I don’t know why you continue to be—_

Orsino shrugged his shoulders. “You could easily become one, but you haven’t yet. And I would hesitate to call Anders an abomination — he’s passionate about mage rights, sure, but—”

Sebastian slammed his palms on Orsino’s desk. “He freely admitted to Hawke that he allowed a spirit of justice to inhabit him! How does that not make him an abomination?” _How does it not make ME an abomination?_

In an instant, all the color drained from Orsino’s face. “He _what_? Oh, I had no idea he’d done that. That… thank you for telling me, Sebastian.” The First Enchanter clutched at the edge of his desk to steady himself as he slumped into his chair. “But no, you are not an abomination. The spirit is unable to survive outside of the Fade without your help. However, if the spirit gets twisted into a demon, it can survive without you, and it will do whatever it takes to break free of its mortal shell, if you get my drift.” He opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a silver flask and taking a long pull from it. He offered it to Sebastian, who declined. “Promise you will be careful to not let your emotions, thoughts, or actions twist the spirit. I will do what I can to find weak spots in the Veil. Perhaps if we can find a spot that is thin enough, the spirit will cross over without needing an actual tear. Conversely, if you are adventuring with Serah Hawke, you may encounter such a place with her. I’ll send her a letter on how she can help you, if that should happen.”

“Help me? Won’t the spirit leave on its own?”

Orsino took another sip from his flask and sighed. “It will, but it will probably leave you incapacitated. Your lifeforce is now… enhanced by the spirit, thanks to the healer’s actions. You’ll live, but are likely to be quite weak after it leaves, as your body will regress in any healing the spirit has accelerated. Are you certain you want to be rid of it? Healers who have been touched by a spirit often live decades longer than the rest of us. I would imagine the same would hold true for you.”

Sebastian gave the First Enchanter a weak smile. “I cannot risk the possibility of the spirit twisting within me, First Enchanter. After all, I was given to the Chantry because of my foolishness. The sooner I can let the spirit return to the Fade, the better. Thank you, Orsino.”

“Anytime, Sebastian. If you ever feel like the spirit is different in any way, please, come to me right away,” Orsino replied with a grave look on his face.

Sebastian nodded politely and left Orsino’s office. He walked through the Gallows, lost in thought. _I guess I’d better make good on my promise to the Grand Cleric to retake my vows. It might be the only way I can keep the spirit from twisting. Imagine me, of all people, trying to keep my pride at bay..._

_Why do you continue to be so concerned that I will possess you? I’ve told you that I cannot — you know what? I totally could. I could_ easily _possess you, but I said that I wouldn’t, so I won’t. But your behavior and thinking when you spoke of Anders are exactly what the elf was warning you about. You were judging him, and for what? Offering to help a spirit so that it did not die outside the Fade? If you’re so concerned for his well-being, why not try to help him, instead of criticizing?_

“I should do that. He meant well,” Sebastian said under his breath. He was so distracted by his conversation with the spirit that he failed to hear a woman calling his name, practically jumping out of his boots when she touched his shoulder.

“Wha-! Oh! Hawke! I didn’t hear you,” Sebastian said as he quickly spun around, wide-eyed and ready to fight.

“Didn’t think so, given that I was calling your name all the way from the weapons shop to here,” Aspasia teased. “Why are you here in the Gallows, of all places?”

“Oh… I… I was just exploring, that’s all. Once you took me outside of my Hightown comfort zone, I found that I wanted to know Kirkwall’s streets better,” Sebastian lied.

Hawke gave the archer a dubious glance. “Right. You’re not a secret agent of Meredith’s, are you? Giving her all the details on my scandalous adventures?”

“Of _course_ not, Aspasia. You know I’m eternally grateful to you for your help. I would never do you like that!”

“I was teasing, Sebastian. Relax,” Hawke said with an exasperated sigh. “Say, are you busy right now? I’m heading back to the docks to speak with the Arishok. Fenris said he will meet me there, but the more, the merrier, right?”

Sebastian gestured for Hawke to lead the way. “Not at all. I think it would be good for me to meet this Arishok, to get a better sense of his intentions so I can calm the Grand Cleric. Half the Chantry is convinced the qunari are here to convert us by force.”

Hawke walked fast, her ginger curls bouncing spiritedly. Sebastian practically jogged to keep up. “I can’t speak to his intentions, honestly. The Arishok is… well, he’s Qunari. That’s the fairest word I can think of at the moment. I’m hoping he’ll be pleased enough over Javaris’ death that he’ll calm down a bit.”

Sebastian shook his head as he pressed his lips together and flared his nostrils. “I still disagree with your decision to execute the dwarf, Ash. He was foolish, sure, but did it truly warrant a death sentence?”

Hawke stopped in her tracks, causing Sebastian to run into her, and narrowed her eyes critically at the archer. “Javaris’ greed poisoned an entire district of the city. Dozens of people cannot return to their homes, for who-knows how long. Ten people _died_ , and all because he wouldn’t take the Arishok’s no for an answer. There are definitely times where I struggle with maintaining my morality, Sebastian, but I _never_ waver on this. Murder can only be answered for by the death of the murderer. So yes, Javaris Tintop truly deserved to die.” She resumed her rapid stride once more. “Come on, the ferryman is waiting on us.”

Sebastian swallowed hard as he continued following her. They stepped into the ferryman’s skiff, and Sebastian clutched the side rail as soon as he sat down, already feeling seasick. “So… was my opposition to your actions the reason why you didn’t ask me to come with you last night?”

Hawke sat opposite him, folding her arms and glaring at Sebastian as the ferryman began to row. “I didn’t take you because I knew it was likely that the _saar-qamek_ had already been released. I promised Richard that I wouldn’t take unnecessary risks with your life,” Hawke said through gritted teeth. She coughed hard for several moments, finally spitting out a glob of sputum into the harbor. “Sorry,” she said as she dabbed her mouth with a handkerchief, “Still feeling the effects of the _saar-qamek_ myself.”

Sebastian knotted his brow in concern, the quarrel forgotten in an instant. “Are you alright? Do you need to go to Anders for healing?”

“I took him along, so he was right there to heal all of us. This is basically my body rejecting the last of the poison. It’ll pass. But… thanks.” Hawke managed a weak smile as she gazed out over Kirkwall’s harbor. Sebastian, however, hung his head over the other side of the skiff, feeling nauseated all the rest of the way to the docks.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_An hour later..._ **

_“Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun, and you should all be grateful!”_

Sebastian could have sworn the ground below him trembled as the Arishok bellowed those words from atop the limestone steps of the qunari compound. Even Hawke was stunned into silence as the massive qunari let out a frustrated huff, sat down, and ordered them to leave. The ginger-haired mage nodded and spun crisply, gesturing with her wide sapphire eyes for the others to follow suit as soon as her back was turned. The trio walked out of the qunari compound with as much bravado as they could muster. Once outside of the guard’s earshot, Hawke let out a massive breath.

“What just happened?” Sebastian asked. “Is… is Kirkwall under attack?”

“No. Trust me, we would not have escaped the compound, were that the Arishok’s intent,” Fenris mused, stroking his chin. “Yet, it is clear now that his patience with the situation is reaching an end. An attack seems… inevitable.”

Hawke nodded. “We need to go to the Viscount right away.” Sebastian noticed that her lower lip trembled ever-so-slightly. _Hmm. So she_ is _intimidated by — maybe even scared of — the Arishok. Handled herself most admirably despite it, I must admit._ In that moment, the indomitable Aspasia Hawke seemed just a little bit more human.

The trio made their way to the Viscount’s Keep, first stopping by Aveline’s office. The guard-captain gladly set aside her mountain of paperwork to join Hawke as she debriefed Viscount Dumar. Hawke was surprised when Seneschal Bran not only didn’t obstruct them, but practically shoved them through the door to the Viscount’s office. As she recounted the entire affair with Javaris Tintop, the Arishok, and the crazed elf at the center of the debacle, the Viscount buried his head further and further into his broad hands.

The Viscount sat in his chair for several tense moments after Hawke finished giving her report. He then stood, pacing behind his desk as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Years of nice, quiet anxiety… gone, along with a whole street!”

“The qunari were blameless,” Hawke reassured him.

Dumar threw his hands up in frustration. “Right. A mad elf, pushed by zealots, likely hidden in the very groups I have to appease. The Maker has a grand sense of humor. And the Arishok! I suspected he had no plans to leave. I didn’t know that it was just as annoying for him.”

Hawke rolled her sapphire eyes. “You could send him gold, and he’d complain it was heavy.”

Dumar put his hands on his desk, shaking his head. “And it’s about to get worse. A shame, there were overtures of civility. Your influence, no doubt,” he said somberly.

Hawke frowned. “What happened?”

The Viscount stood upright, pacing once again as he gesticulated wildly. “A qunari delegate and entourage paid me a visit. It was civil! Tentative! Hopeful! They left my chambers with precision, but were not reported by the outer guard. They are missing almost literally from my doorstep! What, do you imagine, will be the Arishok’s reaction?”

Sebastian swallowed hard. He flicked his eyes towards his companions. The elven warrior’s eyes had grown wide, and Aveline was white as a sheet. But Hawke? If she was scared, she was doing an excellent job of hiding her fear.

“We need to get out in front of this, and fast,” Hawke asserted, her jaw set and her normally pleasant voice now a harsh, booming tone. Sebastian noticed that her hands were trembling now, much like her lower lip had back at the docks. _Is this why she cackles like a madwoman in the face of danger? Is she just overcompensating for her fear?_

“I feel I have been trying to turn a stampede for some time now. Someone is pushing very hard. Speak with Seneschal Bran. Then you will see why I cannot trust anyone else with this,” the Viscount said with resignation.

Hawke and her crew stepped out of the Viscount’s office and got more information from the snobbish Seneschal. They made their way down the stairs, towards the Keep’s massive double doors.

Aveline reached out and grabbed Hawke’s arm with a gauntleted hand. “Hawke, I can’t come with you if you’re going to investigate this now,” she whispered. “My guard-captain duties come first.”

“Of course,” Hawke replied softly, a hint of a waver in her voice. “But I should go now. I need to get Anders, in case things go south and I need healing. Fenris, would you be—”

“My blade is yours,” the elven warrior replied quickly. Aveline nodded her thanks towards Fenris and strode back towards her office. Hawke watched her leave and sighed.

“As is my bow,” Sebastian offered lamely, watching Hawke as his concern for her grew.

“Thanks. Let’s get Anders and take care of this before we lose the trail,” Hawke said with a shaky breath.

Sebastian followed Hawke and Fenris out of the Keep, looking on as the mage and elf chatted. _First the trembling lip, shaking hands, now this. She’s completely terrified, but nobody would be the wiser if they didn’t look closely. Is she always this scared? Is the legend of Mighty Hawke little more than smoke and mirrors? Is_ any _leader of legend more than smoke and mirrors? I remember my father drank terrible amounts of scotch just to get through the day as Prince, and those were on good days. Perhaps I need to reconsider my ideas of what it means to lead and just do whatever it takes to fake it until I believe in myself, like Hawke clearly does._


	20. The Lies We Sow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing qunari delegates lead to a crisis of faith. An unwelcome visitor prompts drastic action in Cumberland.

******_The Hanged Man, Kirkwall, 15th of Haring, 9:32 Dragon…_ **

“To deliberately incite violence like this towards the Qunari seems mad,” Sebastian muttered as he, Anders, Fenris, and Hawke approached the Hanged Man. 

Fenris stopped in his tracks and rounded on the Prince. “You don’t get out much, do you?” he asked pointedly. Anders snorted. 

Sebastian was taken aback. “I--why do you say that?”

Fenris folded his arms, shifting his weight. “Men tend to hate those whom they deem ‘different’. Qunari. Mages. Elves,” he said, waving his hands in frustration. “If we aren’t a human warrior, we are generally deemed either a threat or useless.”

“But I don’t hate--”

Anders joined Fenris, closing the distance between himself and the archer. “You may not outwardly hate, but I see you, Sebastian,” he snarled. “Your hand flies to your coin purse when we visit the alienage. You tense when we go to the Qunari compound.”

Sebastian folded his arms defensively. “That’s hardly fair! And you’re as human as I, Anders! It’s not like I was sat down and told--”

Fenris shot a glare at Anders as he stepped between the two men. “Of course you weren’t, Sebastian.  _ Nobody _ is saying that. But I’m certain that while you were clinging to your mother’s skirts, you noticed that she guarded her money around elves. Your father probably bristled at dwarves. You are conditioned to treat certain groups differently. It’s just the way you were raised.”

“Mages, actually,” Sebastian said softly, giving Hawke and Anders a guilty look. “He always tensed up around mages. Maker, I never realized…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he stared at the dirt beneath his boots.

Hawke finally stepped in, holding up a hand to Fenris and Anders. “You are a human, Sebastian, as am I. The world at large is shaped to our whims. How could you ever be expected to see the inequality on your own?”

Sebastian glanced at Hawke through his thick auburn eyelashes. “I couldn’t, but I will look for it now.” He offered his hand to Fenris, who shook it slowly out of confusion. “Thank you, Fenris. I will do better.”

“Anytime. I’m just glad you’re willing to look at the world with your eyes more open now, Sebastian,” Fenris replied with a half-smile. 

Anders rolled his eyes and shoved the door open. The group walked in, immediately homing in on a loud drunk at the bar who was offering to buy the entire tavern a round.  “A lot of coin, for this place,” Anders said as the group surrounded the drunkard.

“That’s right, pal, tonight I’m paid and blessed. And all I had to do was turn my head.” The drunkard walked over to a table of men deep into their cups. “To all my friends!”

Hawke crossed over to the man, folding her arms angrily as she stood between the traitor and his friends. 

“Hey, step back,” the man slurred. “I know important people. We’re going to show this city what to do with heathen oxmen.”

“So, someone paid you to take a Qunari delegate?” Hawke asked, already knowing the answer.

The drunkard nodded. “I made a good wage for looking away while someone tamed a horn-head. So what?” He narrowed his eyes on Hawke and her crew. “They said I should watch out for sympathizers. Traitors. You want something, take it from me and my new friends!”

A lone voice emerged from the group at the table. “You’re on your own, pal.”

The drunkard shook his head. “That’s loyalty for you! Come on!”

The fight was mercifully short. Nary a drop of blood was spilled before the man was on his back, pleading for mercy.

“This isn’t necessary, you know,” Hawke said, looking down at the pitiful man.

“What… what do you want?” the man asked, desperate. “I just did what he said. It was more coin than I’d ever seen!”

Hawke crouched down, a playful grin on her face. “That’s very good. Now just tell me who and where.”

“Templar. It was a Templar. Didn’t get the name. We met near the Chantry. He… he said taking these Qunari was serving the Maker. I swear, he even had the seal of the Grand Cleric! True is true!”

Hawke let out a sigh as she stood. She gestured for the man to leave the tavern. He scrambled to his feet and stumble-ran out of the Hanged Man.

Anders rolled his eyes and glared at Sebastian. “Great. A Templar?”

“Serving the Grand Cleric, no less,” Fenris muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hawke said nothing, but stormed out of the tavern, making a beeline for the Hightown Chantry. The others struggled to keep up with the petite mage. She barely paused at the double doors, only long enough to yank one open and slip through the crack as soon as it was wide enough to accommodate her. 

Sebastian trotted to keep up with Hawke as she blazed through the Chantry. “The man was a drunk,” he hissed. “Surely you don’t think Grand Cleric Elthina is funding zealots?”

“It’s a careful chat about missing Qunari,” Hawke shot back over her shoulder.

Sebastian grabbed her shoulder, spinning Hawke towards him. “Keep an open mind, Hawke. Elthina isn’t behind this,” he pleaded.

Hawke nodded curtly and shook off Sebastian’s grip. She approached one of the young women attending to the candles around one of the braziers. “The Grand Cleric, please. Tell her… tell her it concerns the Qunari.”

The girl had no sooner run off than Sister Petrice slithered her way between Hawke and the dais where the Grand Cleric usually stood. 

“Serah Hawke,” Petrice said, her voice filled with contempt.

Hawke was confused. “Sister Petrice?”

“ _ Mother _ Petrice. Time has changed us both. Grand Cleric Elthina cannot grant an audience to just anyone. What do you want?”

Hawke shook her head, ginger curls swaying gently. “Funny how you and issues with the Qunari seem to go together.”

Petrice shot the mage a glare, pressing her lips into a thin line. “And you always assume their side. I was naive when last we met. I did not want you dead, but I felt a death was necessary. That may be too fine a point for you to understand, but you must admit, you came out the better for it.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Anyway. A Templar may have misjudged an order and abused the grand cleric’s authority.”

Petrice turned on her familiar charm, attempting to spin Hawke’s discovery with all the subtlety of a warhammer. “I assure you, the templars would  _ never _ embarrass the Chantry, at risk of the knight-commander’s wrath.”

Hawke snorted in amusement. “Right. Men were hired for the righteous task of kidnapping a Qunari delegate.”

Petrice said nothing, simply glaring at Hawke. 

Hawke arched an eyebrow. “A pause says that you knew. But does Her Grace?”

“The Grand Cleric entrusts her stewards to enact the wishes of the Maker,” Petrice spat, a line she’d clearly rehearsed many times.

“It sounds like you’ve been bad,” Hawke teased. “This will shock Her Grace, no doubt.”

Petrice grumbled under her breath, shaking her head. “Stubborn… All right, Serah Hawke. If you won’t abandon this, let me offer you something. The templar you seek is a radical who has grown… unreliable. Confronting him may do us all a favor.”

“And he is what to you?” Hawke demanded. 

“He is my former bodyguard, Ser Varnell. Assume what you wish, but I offer him to you as… reconciliation. Meet me at this location,” Petrice said, handing her a folded note. “I invite you, Serah Hawke. Come see the unrest these Qunari have inspired.” She walked away. 

“Well, that’s most certainly a trap,” Fenris muttered as Hawke began to walk towards the staircase to the dais. As usual, the Grand Cleric was standing in front of the massive bronze statue of Andraste.

_ This must be a misunderstanding. This templar must be a rogue agent,  _ Sebastian thought to himself as he watched Hawke approach Elthina. 

The Grand Cleric visibly braced herself when she spotted Hawke. “Hawke. Is something troubling you?”

“Did you know that someone used the authority of your name to instigate a crime against the Qunari?” Hawke asked quietly, wanting to avoid the possibility of being overheard. 

Sebastian was relieved that Hawke was treating the situation delicately. But then, Elthina let out a resigned sigh, and Sebastian felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. 

“The path to righteousness is never as straight and narrow as we wish,” Elthina admitted. “I truly hoped this would not go so far, but do not trouble yourself. I will step in when it’s time.” The Grand Cleric nodded politely and gestured for Hawke and her companions to leave. 

Sebastian stood on the dais, stunned. He looked at the Grand Cleric quizzically, torn between following Hawke as he’d promised or staying in the Chantry as he’d pledged. “Go,” Elthina whispered. “We will discuss this in the morning. Stay safe, Sebastian.” The archer nodded and ran to catch up with Hawke and her crew.

Sebastian caught up with Hawke, just making it through the double doors of the Chantry before they grated shut. The evening air had a sharp chill that cut to the bone. He stopped at the edge of the staircase, stunned. “That…”

“Is precisely what I expected of her,” Anders muttered with a derisive snort. 

Hawke stopped halfway down the staircase. She turned around, grimacing. “I must admit I’m not surprised by her response, either, Sebastian,” she said bluntly as she walked back up the stairs towards the archer. “This isn’t my first run-in with Petrice, either. She’s been inciting anti-Qunari sentiments in this city for years, and Her Grace has done absolutely nothing to check her actions.”

Sebastian shook his head vehemently. “How can you say that, Hawke? After all she’s done for the city? For the Maker? For  _ YOU _ ?”

Hawke shifted her weight and folded her arms defensively. “How can you refuse to see beyond the kindnesses she’s shown  _ YOU _ , Sebastian? Look, I know it’s… you look to her as a maternal figure, and I get that, but you cannot let that blind you to what the Chantry has allowed to happen under her watch! Sitting idly by makes her just as complicit as if she’d kidnapped the delegate herself!” She threw her hands up in frustration. 

Sebastian’s aqua eyes blazed with anger, and he bit at his lower lip to keep his growing anger in check. “I sincerely hope you never lose your mother the way I lost mine, Hawke. You can never even begin to imagine the pain I go through, every day. So yes, I look at Elthina as a mother, and I will defend her honor, just as I would have for my own mother. And because of that, I would have you speak of her with more respect.  _ All _ of you,” he finished, glaring pointedly at Anders, who failed to stifle a snicker. 

Hawke rolled her eyes and let out a sigh, resuming her descent of the staircase once more. Sebastian watched her go, furious that she had refused to acknowledge his point.

_ Let this go. You are not seeing this situation clearly. There are people who use the Chantry to further their personal agenda-- _

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Sebastian hissed under his breath, and Faith stopped talking. The archer felt a brief tearing sensation deep within his gut. 

“Perhaps you should stay here, Sebastian. Your anger will do you no service if Petrice has indeed set us up again,” Fenris offered, breaking the tense silence.

“No. I’m coming along. I have Elthina’s blessing to do so. I intend to be there when you all see that the Chantry--that  _ Elthina _ \--does not meddle in political affairs,” Sebastian growled, ignoring Faith’s admonition, and stormed down the long staircase.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

Hours later, Sebastian sat at the steps leading up to the Chantry dais, stunned as he stared at a pool of dark blood trailing from Mother Petrice’s body, snaking its way across the marble floor until it mixed with the brighter red wax pools of the candles at the foot of one of the massive bronze braziers. He didn’t even notice Hawke had sat beside him until he felt the weight of her hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you alright, Sebastian?”

“The Chantry condoned the torture and murder of qunari, the Viscount tried to cover it up, the Arishok is ready to attack this city, and I just watched one of our faithful be murdered for her part in orchestrating all of this, right here in the Chantry itself,” he spat before leveling a glare at Hawke. “So no, I am most definitely not alright.”

“Understandable, but I’m not sure why you seem so angry with me,” Hawke said, retracting her hand from his shoulder. 

Sebastian shot to his feet. “I  _ am _ angry!” he yelled, before he could stop himself.  _ You’re angry at seeing the Chantry for what it is, and you’re angry at being shown that corruption, but none of this is her fault.  _ He took a deep breath and spoke again, calmly this time. “But you’re right, I am taking my anger out on you, and that is wrong. You were not the one who poked the hornet’s nest. You didn’t give your seal to Ser Varnell. You didn’t attempt to cover all of this up. In fact, you did what is probably the gutsiest thing I’ve ever seen--going straight to the Arishok and telling him what we did to his people in the name of the Maker!”

“I can’t imagine how it feels to have your faith rocked like this, Sebastian. I shouldn’t have brought you along for any of this. I’m so sorry,” Hawke said softly, burying her hands in her ginger curls. 

“No, I needed to see this, Hawke. I needed to know. It steels my resolve to do what is right for my family and my people. But… this has been a long, long day. I need to rest.”

Hawke stood and nodded, giving the archer a weak smile. “Of course. I’ll stop by tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”

“I’d like that. Thank you, Hawke.”

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Cumberland, 25th of Haring, 9:32 Dragon…_ **

Christian MacAllister returned home from his shift at the palace and entered his study, surprised to find his older brother Ryon pacing angrily in front of the roaring fireplace. 

“What is it, brother?”

Ryon paused, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. He gestured towards a letter on the wingback chair behind him. “Johane has made a sudden return to Starkhaven.” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “He blew it. He had her cornered, he had allies, and he still took too damned long to act!”

“WHAT? He wanted justice, did he not?” Christian said as he picked up the letter and scanned it quickly. 

“I certainly thought so, but perhaps Sebastian just doesn’t want to leave the Chantry’s teat after being coddled for so long,” the grizzled warrior spat bitterly.

Christian let out a frustrated huff. “Perhaps… perhaps all is not lost, brother. She may have returned to Starkhaven for a short trip… maybe for First Day. She’s spent the past two winters in Kirkwall. Clearly she prefers the warmer coast, and we’ve heard too many rumors about that excavation at her Kirkwall estate for her to suddenly abandon it.”

Ryon slumped into the wingback chair. “You may be right. Doesn’t help Bryan in any way, though. In fact, I’d just as soon get him out of there before Johane has him killed. MacSwain and Dunleavy have been crusading against his presence in Goran’s inner circle pretty hard, and with that witch back in the picture, Goran may not be able to resist their protests. We have to assume she’s using magic to control him, after all.”

Christian stared into the flames. “Agreed. What will we do about this apparent lower class uprising?”

Ryon stood, walking over to the liquor cabinet and pouring himself a measure of brandy. “We need to calm the people, to assure them that relief is on the way. Oh, but wait. Our Prince has essentially fled the damned field!”

Christian bit at his lower lip. “I’m going to Starkhaven,” he announced plainly.

Ryon choked on liquor. “What? You must be daft,” he spluttered between coughing fits.

Christian folded his arms across his broad chest. “Hear me out. You’re a dead man if you so much as even approach the city gate. I’m the only other person whom you can trust to protect Bryan while he gains Goran’s favor, and I can pass messages from you to whomever you wish with far less risk of interception. I’m not known there, Ryon.”

Ryon, who had finally recovered, took a modest sip of his remaining brandy. “You may not be, but our name is. If asked, the surname is a coincidence. If you so much as acknowledge you know of me, you’re as good as dead. I went to Starkhaven as a squire and rarely talked about my family to anyone except for the Vaels, so I doubt anybody alive knows I’m from here, so it just might work. Christian…” He trailed off, concerned.

Christian put a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll be careful, Ryon. I’ve been a fighter since I could hold a sword, as you well know. You handed it to me.”

Ryon looked at his baby brother, his face grave. “You’ve not been to  _ Starkhaven _ . It’s like Orlais there, with the political maneuvering and whatnot. Not quite as deadly as their Great Game, but you still need to watch your back. It’s best if you go alone. I’ll take care of our families until it’s safe.” 

Christian nodded his thanks. “I will. I’m not as foolish as you think, Ryon. Cumberland has its fair share of politicking, too.”

Ryon tore himself away from Christian, settling down behind the plain oak desk. “I’m sending a letter with you,” he muttered as he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper from the center drawer. “When you arrive, head straightaway to The Plucked Hen. There’s a pretty blonde barmaid there named Madeline. Give the letter to her, keep on her good side, and we might just avert disaster with the lower classes.” He paused for a moment, glancing at his brother. “Probably best if you not directly state that we are kin, not even to her. As for Johane, all we can do is hope her return to Starkhaven is temporary.”

Christian stroked his beard as he thought. “Perhaps an emergency can be arranged in Kirkwall?”

Ryon nodded as he wrote, the gentle skritch of quill on paper soothing. “If she doesn’t leave Starkhaven by mid-Wintermarch, I don’t see any other way to flush her out so that Sebastian can get to her. I’ll contact Richard to let him know of this development and get him to light a fire under our Prince’s arse.”

Christian sighed as he lazily paced in front of the desk, watching his brother write. “Remind me again… why are we working so hard to restore a Prince who seems to not want his crown?” 

Ryon paused in his writing, looking sternly at his brother with coal-black eyes. “Because I promised his father I would bring him home, and because I believe Sebastian will lead Starkhaven to greatness. I know that boy well, Christian. He’ll come around. It may take months or even years, but he will eventually make the choice to lead his people. It’s in his blood. He is inexplicably drawn to seize the crown, even as he resists it. A man with his blood does not find cloistered life fulfilling. He is too passionate to live that way for the rest of his life. We need to tap into that passion… remind him he is a Starkhavener, a Vael, and not meant for Chantry life.”

Christian frowned. “Don’t we risk him reverting to his rebellious ways by doing so?”

“Not if we are careful. Besides, the time I spent with him recently showed me that he really has matured,” Ryon said dismissively. 

“Wait, didn’t Richard mention once that he’s rather fond of a lady in Kirkwall?”

Ryon snorted. “From what I’ve heard about Mistress Hawke, she is hardly a lady in the truest sense of the word. But Richard seems to admire her spirit, and I trust his judgement. That whole mess with the Oswallt lass really sent him reeling. Mistress Hawke may be just what Sebastian needs to spark that flame again. But all that simply must wait. Johane must be eliminated before we can go marrying the boy off to anyone. Go, pack. You need to get going as soon as possible.”

Christian exited the study, and Ryon reviewed his letter: 

_ Madeline:  _

_ I am sorry for my delayed reply. Since you let me know of the Crown’s bounty on my head, I have wisely stayed away from Starkhaven and limited all communications as I continue to pursue those responsible for the slaughter of our Prince and his family.  _

_ It has come to my attention that certain people are pressuring Prince Goran to bow to their demands, and those demands are causing terrible harm to the farmers and merchants. We simply must get Prince Goran away from these evil men, before the farmers and merchants revolt. I have sent my friend Bryan Thom, whom you might remember as Gavin Vael’s longtime bodyguard, to help Prince Goran resist these people. He is as committed to Starkhaven’s peace and prosperity as you or I. As for you, you are in a unique position, as owner of the most popular tavern in the principality, to influence those who have been hurt most by Prince Goran’s misguided trade and tax policies. Soothe the farmers and merchants who frequent your tavern. Assure them that relief is coming soon. I wish I could elaborate, but I dare not in a letter.  _

_ RM _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo, and Happy 4th of July to my US readers! Sorry (again) for the delay (again), but I started a new job that has been taking up most of my mental capacity. This weekend has been the first in a long time that I've been able to sit down and write, so I wanted to devote it to you all who have been so unbelievably patient. Thank you, as always, for all the kudos, comments, and general awesomeness you've bestowed on my works. <3


	21. Pride and Prejudice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One couple falls apart, while another seems to come together. An argument leads to a rash decision. Strangers in Hightown prompt an investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: brief descriptions of psychological abuse, non-consensual sexual contact

**_Kirkwall Chantry, 25th of Wintermarch, 9:33 Dragon…_ **

Sun streamed through the windows above the massive statue of Andraste in the Kirkwall Chantry, bathing the bronze statue in such brilliant light, it appeared to be heaven-sent. The congregation sat, rapt, as Grand Cleric Elthina delivered her sermon. The elderly woman stood proudly on the dais in front of the statue, bolstered by her faith, as Sebastian and two Sisters stood behind her.  

“Go forth, and let the Maker’s grace shine through you,” Grand Cleric Elthina proclaimed from the dais above the congregation. The people below began to make their way out of the Chantry.

“That was a lovely service, Grand Cleric,” Sebastian said reverently as Elthina turned around. He handed her a much-needed glass of water.

Elthina took a desperate gulp and let out a breath. “Thank you, Sebastian. Your reading of Threnodies was marvelous. You’ve come so far since you arrived. ‘Tis a shame men aren’t allowed to move up the ranks. I could see you leading the services someday!”

“Yes, a shame, indeed,” Sebastian said with a measured amount of false sorrow. _The last thing I want is to become a permanent fixture within these walls._ “I must return to my quarters before lunch. I have a bit of mending to take care of, so if you’ll excuse me?”

“You’re excused, Sebastian,” Elthina said wearily. “You know you do not need my permission to move about within the Chantry.”

Sebastian nodded politely and made his way down the stairs.

“Sebastian, wait,” Hawke called sharply as the archer strode across the Chantry’s main hall, bound for his quarters.

Sebastian stopped in his tracks. “Is everything alright, Hawke?” He asked as she approached.

“Can’t I just want to talk to my friend?” Hawke asked, exasperated. Sebastian noticed she was particularly fidgety.

“So we’re friends now, are we? Dangerous apostate and Chantry Brother?” Sebastian teased, voice low.

Hawke, oblivious, furrowed her brow. “We’ve spilled blood together… cried together… yelled together… so, yes, I believe that makes us friends.”

“We’ve yelled _at_ each other more than we’ve yelled together, Hawke,” Sebastian reminded her as he stroked his chin.

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “True, but it’s always led to enlightening conversation, and… hey… why are you fighting me on this?”

“Just repaying the favor, Hawke. I know you enjoy getting a rise out of me. I’m not without a sense of humor, you know.” Hawke rolled her eyes and tried to hide her smile, looking down and away as she shook her head. Sebastian stooped down, grinning as he caught her smirking. “There it is!”

“There _what_ is?”

“Your dimple. It only shows up when you’re really smiling, not fake-smiling for the Viscount or your mum.”

“Ha. _Ha_. Cheeky one, you are. I’m here because I wanted to ask if you’re available tomorrow night for a job at the DuPuis mansion. We’re tracking a suspected murderer.”

“Of course. Sundown, as usual?”

“A little later, actually. About two hours after sundown, when it’s gotten good and dark. I’ll come get you.”

“Sounds good. Now, are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you, or am I going to have to continue to coax it out?”

“How did--” Hawke started, wide-eyed. She swallowed hard. “I-I’d rather speak alone, if we could.”

“Of course,” Sebastian said, gesturing towards a corridor which led to the rear exit. They walked in silence through the corridor and out into the garden. He directed her through the snow-dusted hedges towards a stone bench in the corner, far away from prying eyes or ears. Dutifully, he cleared the snow from the seat and invited Hawke to sit down.

Hawke perched on the cold stone and sighed as Sebastian sat beside her. “It’s nothing in particular. Just a pattern of… _behavior_ … and I’m wondering if I’m going crazy or if something is legitimately wrong.”

Sebastian smiled. “I’d hardly call you cra--”

“It’s Anders,” Hawke blurted. “You’ve been around us enough, seen enough. I trust your judgement more than I’d trust Fenris or even Varric at this point.”

Sebastian cringed. “Aspasia, I’m not sure I can be unbiased here. I’ve made it no secret that I don’t care for him. His attitude, his behavior… he’s impulsive, and with the burdens on your shoulders, there’s really no place for it. But… uh… wouldn’t Aveline, or even _Isabela_ be better to talk to about this? Relationships aren’t exactly my forte.”

“I’m bringing this to you because you have no stake in the matter,” Hawke said plainly.

“What does that mean?”

“Fenris despises Anders, and both he and Isabela have made no secret of their desire for me, so of course they want him out of the picture. Aveline would jump for joy at not having to have me watched constantly. Even Merrill would be happier with him gone, as she wouldn’t have to hear how she’s going to be swallowed up by a demon all the damned time. Varric is the only one who would push for me to stay with Anders, as he would see his absence as a loss--we’d lose our best healer. But you? You’re detached enough from the rest of the group--and all of their motives--to give me a better assessment.” Hawke looked down at the snow-dusted grass, her hands folded.

Sebastian shrugged. “Fair enough. You weave complicated webs, Hawke. Soooo… what happened? Surely something must have, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“I--” Hawke paused, trying to blink back tears as she stared intently at her hands. “He’s… he’s just very controlling, that’s all.”

Sebastian furrowed his brow. “I’ve noticed. Go on.”

Hawke hunched over, twisting her fingers in her ginger curls as she spoke in a single exhalation, as though the strength required to talk about this subject would otherwise leave her. “He doesn’t like it when I don’t bring him on a job, or when I hang out with the other members of our crew without him. He’s really pushing me to let him move into the estate and I just don’t think--”

“That’s a _terrible_ idea, and you didn’t need me to tell you that, Hawke,” Sebastian interrupted. “You are right, though. He is _very_ controlling. He’s always urging you to side with his so-called idea of mage rights, no matter the consequences. While I’d never urge you to go against what is right for your kind, I _will_ always urge you to do what you think is right for everyone involved, given the responsibilities people like the Viscount keep putting on you. And you have, so far.”

“Well, at least _you_ think I’m doing some good around here,” Hawke said sarcastically. “Sometimes I feel like walking away from this city and leaving everyone to their own devices.”

“You’re the only one keeping this city from imploding, Hawke, I swear it. For Kirkwall, that’s a _lot_ of good you’ve done.” He paused, noticing that she looked even more agitated. “So… are you going to tell me what else happened? I can tell you’re holding back.”

Hawke looked up at him, astonished. “How did--”

“I occasionally take confessions. I can hear it in a person’s voice. But you? You’re scarcely able to hold still.”

Aspasia blushed furiously, avoiding Sebastian’s azure gaze. “It’s… quite, uh… _personal_.”

Sebastian tried to laugh off her embarrassment. “I wasn’t always chaste, Aspasia. I’m familiar with the physical aspect of relationships, if that’s concerning you.”

Hawke nodded awkwardly, staring at the snow-dusted grass once again. “He wishes for us to become intimate, but I’m scared.”

“A completely valid concern. Physical intimacy is not something to engage in lightly,” Sebastian acknowledged. _So has she never… ah, best not to think on that, Vael, lest your mind wanders._

She flicked her gaze towards Sebastian. “And I do not wish to… _you know_ … before I’m married.”

 _So she_ is _pure. I mean, it shouldn’t be surprising, but still… I guess it’s just been a long time since I met a young lady who was chaste and_ not _a Sister._ Sebastian gave her a reassuring smile. “Few women do, given how our society punishes women who engage in pleasure-seeking activities. Have you told him this?”

Aspasia nodded. “Every time we’re together, but he keeps pushing and _pushing_. I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off, to be honest.”

“How so?”

“He will try to force his hand up my skirts, or grab at my chest as we kiss. He says that it’s my fault, for being so beautiful. He says he cannot help it, and that soon, he won’t be able to stop himself. And I don’t think I’m strong enough to stop him if he can’t stop himself.” As Aspasia spoke, Sebastian noticed her lower lip trembling, as it tended to do when she was nervous or scared. She quickly bit at it to keep the quiver under control, but it was too late.

“That’s…” Sebastian felt anger churning, rising within him. _All she does for him, and this is how he treats her? Were I the hothead I used to be, he’d already be… Maker, help me protect her._ “You said _no_!” He growled, fighting to keep his voice low. “How could he--”

“So… what do you think I should do?” Aspasia asked, looking up nervously.

“Break it off. Immediately. And kick him out of our crew,” Sebastian replied resolutely.

Aspasia sat up. “You’d go _that_ far?”

Sebastian looked at her like she’d grown a third arm in the middle of her forehead. “You _wouldn’t_? He is ignoring your wishes and attempting to isolate you from your friends and family. On top of that, he is a rebel, bent on sowing dissent in an already-precarious situation. With people like him, even your family will be declared enemies.”

Hawke pondered Sebastian’s words. “He _has_ gone on a few rants about Carver joining the Templars, and that I should cut all ties with him…” she muttered under her breath. After a moment, she let out a resigned sigh. “Thank you, Sebastian. I need to think through how I’m going to do this, but… you’re right. I can’t continue a relationship with him.”

“At the _very_ least. Consider what I said about cutting all ties with him. I don’t like what he’s doing to you, Aspasia. Not one bit. If you need anything at all, you come to me, okay?”

Aspasia nodded as she blinked hard to keep from crying. “I will, I promise. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” She rose abruptly and rushed back towards the Chantry.

Sebastian sat in quiet solitude for a few moments, watching lazy snowflakes float from the sky as he fought the urge to march right down to Anders’ clinic. He folded his hands and closed his eyes. _Maker, please guide Hawke. She needs you now more than ever._

“Is Hawke alright?” Richard asked as he approached. “She looked rather upset as she left.”

“Maker, I hope so,” Sebastian muttered. “It seems her relationship with Anders is not going as well as she’d hoped.”

“He’s dangerous and unpredictable,” Richard muttered as he sat next to Sebastian. “That makes for an exciting spark, but little else. Given how much the Chantry and Viscount are leaning on her, she’d be better off with someone more stable, I think.”

Sebastian nodded. “That’s essentially what I advised her to do--to dump him.”

Richard slapped the Prince on the knee. “Good. Let us pray that she takes your advice. She certainly didn’t listen to me when I told her to stay away from him.”

“I’ll be accompanying her on another job tomorrow night, by the way,” Sebastian said as he gazed at his still-folded hands. _Wait… when has Richard had occasion to give Hawke relationship advice?_

Richard grinned. “Look at you! Before you know it, you’ll be the one training me!”

“Not likely, but I do enjoy getting out and doing some good for the city. Makes me feel more useful than sitting here, that’s for sure,” Sebastian said with a shrug.

“I’m sure you don’t mind the company you keep, either,” Richard teased.

Sebastian frowned. “I--Hawke is a wonderful woman, don’t get me wrong, but… I… she’s a good _friend_.”

“You don’t want to risk her friendship,” Richard surmised.

“I don’t… think so… _no_ ,” Sebastian mumbled as he shook his head. “And the whole magic thing…”

Richard shrugged. “Problematic, but not insurmountable. You wouldn’t be first to bring magic into a royal line, let’s just say that.” The Seeker paused, brushing his shoulder-length wavy brown locks away from his face. “Look… Sebastian… I know the Tamsyn situation didn’t turn out as we’d all hoped, but she wasn’t the right woman for you. I’m sorry that Ryon and I pushed you so hard to sign the contract, but we all wanted what was right for Starkhaven. I think that clouded our judgement a bit. It did mine, at least.”

Sebastian nodded at Richard as he pressed his lips into a thin line, then let out a huff. “I know, and that’s why I signed it. You couldn’t have known what she was really like.”

Guilt tore through Richard, and he shook his head. “No, none of us could have.”

“And none of us know what _Hawke_ is really like, now do we?” Sebastian asked, his blue eyes practically boring a hole through Richard.

“I’ve had several private conversations with her,” Richard admitted coolly. “I’m confident she would have your best interests in mind, whether or not you decide to pursue anything.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Wow. That’s a _glowing_ recommendation,” he said sarcastically.

Richard laughed. “What else did you expect me to say? That she vowed to keep you safe even before she met you? That she’s been unfailingly honest and forthright in every conversation we’ve had? That she takes absolutely no shit from anyone who would challenge her honor?”

Sebastian was taken aback. “Seems you just said all of those things.” _Vowed to keep me safe even before she met me? Just how long has Richard known her?_

Richard held his arms wide. “I did. And all are the truth.” He sighed. “She’s a good woman, Sebastian. Don’t close the door. That’s all I ask.”

Sebastian stood. “As you wish,” he muttered before walking away.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Kirkwall, DuPuis Mansion exterior, 26th of Wintermarch, 9:33 Dragon..._ **

The front door of the DuPuis Mansion creaked open, allowing Hawke and her crew to step into the chilly Wintermarch night. A three-quarter moon was veiled in clouds, casting a muted light on Hightown. Hawke strode towards the staircase leading towards the Chantry courtyard. Sebastian trotted around and stepped in front of Hawke, stopping her in her tracks. He glared at her, furious. “How could you let him go, Hawke? He was clearly about to murder that woman!”

Anders folded his arms, shifting his weight. “And how, pray tell, could you divine his guilt, Lord Vael?”

Hawke shot a cautioning look at the rebel mage. “Anders, stop it.” She looked up at the archer with a steely gaze. “Sebastian, I have my reasons. DuPuis is clearly up to something, but I don’t think he’s the killer.”

Sebastian’s jaw dropped. “But he admitted to being a blood mage! How is that not sufficient cause to arrest him?”

Hawke narrowed her gaze and began to pace, gesticulating as she spoke. “Being a blood mage in and of itself is not a crime, Sebastian! Unless I were a Templar, which--surprise! I’m not!--I’m under no obligation to detain a mage unless they are a clear threat to others. I don’t believe DuPuis himself is a threat. But I _do_ believe he’s an accomplice to the killer, and I intend to use him to get to that person. DuPuis is no good to me in the Gallows. Now is it clear why I chose to let him go?”

Sebastian frowned as Hawke’s words sunk in. “I-I guess. I just don’t like the idea of known _maleficarum_ running loose in the city, that’s all.”

“Those _heathen maleficarum_ running loose in the city just so happen to include me and Hawke,” Anders spat. “If we are so problematic, maybe you shouldn’t run with our crew. Just putting that out there.”

Incensed, Sebastian marched over to Anders. “I’ve put my life on the line to save mages _plenty_ of times now, Anders. It’s hardly fair to paint me with such a harsh brush.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Anders’ mouth as Sebastian’s anger level rose visibly. “But you only support magic when it benefits you,” he accused. “Tell the truth--if Hawke or Merrill or I weren’t willing to support your cause, would you lump us with the mages you call _maleficarum_ ?” He said _maleficarum_ in a sing-song voice, openly mocking the archer.

“I--I’m not sure,” Sebastian admitted, his cheeks burning with shame.

“Hawke, now do you see why I’ve been telling you to leave him behind when jobs involve anything having to do with mages or demons?” Anders asked, putting his hands on his hips with smug satisfaction.

“You--you’ve been telling her to leave me behind?” Sebastian asked incredulously. He looked at Hawke gravely. “Hawke, this is _exactly_ what--”

“Anders is right,” Hawke interrupted, placing her hand on his shoulder softly as she looked up at him with remorse. “Sebastian, you consistently start arguments when it comes to jobs involving mages.” She gestured towards Anders and Fenris. “We are going to the Gallows to speak with Emeric, but I think it’s best if you return to the Chantry. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Wait, you’re going to listen-- _Hawke_ . We talked about _this_ ,” Sebastian implored, casting a pointed glare at Anders. The honey-blond Warden grinned triumphantly and waved. Sebastian set his jaw and shook his head vehemently. “You know what? Fine. _FINE!_ I’ll go back to the Chantry, but you know what? I’m going to _stay_ there. Don’t bother asking me to join you for _any_ more jobs, Hawke. I certainly don’t need to put my life on the line for people who clearly don’t appreciate it!” With that, the archer stormed off, leaving the others stunned.

Fenris, Anders, and Hawke stood there for several long moments as Sebastian grew smaller and smaller, until he disappeared down an alleyway.

“Well I, for one, am glad we won’t have to listen to his proselytizing anymore,” Anders proclaimed.

“Good job, mage,” Fenris hissed. “Now we have to go get Varric before we head to the Gallows, and who knows if he’ll even be available? We could lose the best lead we have because of you.”

Hawke whipped her head around at the two behind her. “Shut up, both of you,” she growled. “Yes, we will have to get Varric. Big deal. But are you happy now, Anders? Sebastian was a huge asset to our crew and we’ve lost him.”

Anders folded his arms across his chest. “Well, since you’re asking, yes. Yes, I _am_ happy. I never liked that spoiled, stuck-up, Andraste-loving, selfish little assh--”

“That’s enough,” Fenris barked, rolling his eyes at Anders. “Let us move on.”

“Agreed,” Hawke muttered as she led the charge towards Lowtown.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Kirkwall Chantry, Sebastian’s quarters, thirty minutes later…_ **

“You _what_?” Richard asked incredulously. “Surely you can speak with her later, when cooler heads will prevail! We cannot lose her support right as we are to attack Johane Harimann!”

“We don’t _need_ her!” Sebastian shouted, slamming his palms on his small desk. “The price of her support is too high!” He grimaced as he felt another brief tearing sensation deep in his belly--the third since he’d walked out on Hawke.

Richard’s face twisted in confusion. “What are you even talking about? And what if Johane is practicing blood magic, Sebastian?” He paced in front of the dying fireplace, finally pausing and resting his arm on the mantle as he stared at the flickering flames. “The two of us alone are no match for even a relatively weak blood mage. Neither of us really know how to subdue mages properly. We must smooth things over with Hawke.”

Sebastian drew a ragged breath. “She has been a good friend, Richard, and a powerful ally, but I cannot stand aside and watch her be pulled into Anders’ web of deceit any longer. I won’t!”

Richard shot Sebastian a look over his shoulder. “Web of _deceit_? Don’t you think that’s a little overdramatic?”

Sebastian stood upright, walking over to his bed and sitting on the edge as he spoke. “Anders is controlling her. Manipulating her, somehow. I’m not sure if it’s magic or he’s preying on some insecurity of hers, but he commands and she obeys. He told her to leave me behind whenever magic is involved, and she--she just.. _did it_. Without question.” He looked up at Richard, baffled, and then looked down at the rug, shaking his head gently. “I can’t handle watching her being used like that, so I decided to make the exclusion permanent.”

Richard sat down by Sebastian. “So you’d leave her to his whims? What kind of person does that to their _friend_?”

Sebastian grew defensive. “I _told_ her to break it off yesterday. Instead of doing so, she seems more invested in him than ever. If she’s going to run to me for help and not bother taking my advice, then I cannot afford to spare any more time on Aspasia Hawke. I have enough on my plate without getting dragged into drama.” He stood abruptly and began crossing the room to where his travel chest was.

“I--I see,” Richard said softly. “Well, it’s a shame we won’t have her assistance.”

“We can take care of Johane some other way, once I’ve laid claim to the crown,” Sebastian muttered, flipping open the lid to his travel chest.

Richard watched incredulously. “What are you doing?”

Sebastian paused. “Packing, what else does it look like? If I’m not working with Hawke to take down Johane, then why would I stay here? Even you must admit the city is a powder keg.”

Richard let out a sigh of relief. “I never wanted to alarm you, but yes, I agree. Between the Qunari and the mage situation here, Kirkwall is going to tear itself apart, it’s just a matter of time.” He approached Sebastian. “But we must make proper arrangements before we go. We lack the luxury of being able to go as we please. I shall write some letters. In the meantime, do try to gain whatever peace of mind that you can from the grand cleric. It is unlikely we will be allowed to seek shelter within the Chantry again if you abandon your vows for a second time.”

“You’re right,” Sebastian groaned as he set a neatly-folded shirt down on his bed. “Besides, it’s late, and I’m upset. I should sleep on this before I make any rash decisions. ” He closed the lid of the travel chest.

Richard put his hand on the door handle. “That may be the wisest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Sebastian. We’ll speak tomorrow. Good night.” He slipped out of the door and pretended to walk down the hallway before sneaking back and standing guard outside of the archer’s room for the rest of the night.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Kirkwall Chantry, 28th of Wintermarch, 9:33 Dragon…_ **

Richard knocked once before rushing into Sebastian’s quarters. “Sebastian, I’ve received some worrying news.”

Sebastian paused in his packing efforts. “Of course, you have. Go on.”

Richard pulled a tightly-folded letter out of his belt pouch. “I received a letter from Ryon. It’s about Johane. She had returned to Starkhaven without notice, so he asked if we could somehow manage to manufacture a crisis to draw her back here. Thankfully, as it turns out, she arrived back in Kirkwall yesterday.”

“I’m failing to see the worrisome part,” Sebastian said flatly.

“I was getting to that, thanks,” Richard spat, annoyed. “Everyone I spoke to made mention of something big happening at the Harimann Estate. Lots of laborers about, all with excavation tools. A couple of foreign-looking folks going in and out, too.”

Sebastian shrugged. “So she’s having work done at the house. What’s wrong with that?”

Richard let out a frustrated huff. “Many of Kirkwall’s structures are of Tevinter origin. Where else would you expect those grotesque slave statues in the Gallows to come from? And if you recall, Johane is likely a blood mage. If she were to somehow stumble onto something ancient, something powerful… she could summon a demon, or worse. We can’t wait. We must take her down before we leave Kirkwall.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling. “And I suppose you’re going to ask me to make amends with Hawke, aren’t you?”

Richard nodded. “I’m afraid I must. A Tevinter relic could make Johane more powerful than either you or I could imagine, and certainly not an adversary we want pursuing us, nor one we could responsibly leave behind to wreak havoc here.”

“Fine. For Starkhaven, I’ll do it. I’ll find you when I return,” Sebastian grumbled as he began to pull on his armor.

“Thank you for being reasonable, Sebastian,” Richard said as he left the prince’s quarters.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Kirkwall, Hawke Estate, thirty minutes later…_ **

A series of gentle raps stirred Hawke from her book. She grunted her displeasure as she rose and crossed the study, opening the door. “What is it _now_ , Bodahn?”

“Messere, Sebastian Vael is at the front door. Now, I did not let him in, as you asked, but he simply won’t leave,” Bodahn said, his bright eyes pleading.

“I’ll take care of it,” Hawke muttered as she stormed past Bodahn, nearly running straight into Orana, who bore the tray of tea and biscuits Hawke had ordered only minutes before. “Just set that down by my chair, thank you,” she barked at the elven servant as she continued her march towards the front door. She smoothed down her finery and cleared her throat. “Vael, I have less than zero interest in speaking with you. Go. _AWAY_ ,” she shouted at the door.

“Hawke, _please_ , it doesn’t have to be like this.” The warm brogue was unmistakeable, even through the reinforced oak door.

“You walked out on us, Sebastian. On _me_ ,” Hawke shot back.

“I was _asked_ to leave, if you recall, Aspasia. I merely did as you wished.”

“Yes, but only for that job, or others which involve mages or demons.” A pang of guilt washed over her as she recalled Sebastian’s hurt expression when she sided with Anders over the matter.

“Which is pretty much _every job you go on_ , Hawke. Am I expected to wait around forever for the one job that doesn’t expose me to things you feel I’m unable to deal with?”

Aspasia hesitated for several tense moments. She put her fingers on the deadbolt but stopped herself, instead backing away from the door.

Sebastian sighed and dropped his voice low as he put his forehead against the smooth panel. “I’m leaving Kirkwall, Aspasia, and I don’t want to leave things like this. I would like to make amends. _Please_.”

Aspasia found herself surprised by the tears that prickled in her eyes as she rushed forward and pulled back the deadbolt, opening the door wide. “Get in here, before I change my mind,” she said breathlessly.

Surprised that she’d relented, Sebastian rushed inside. Hawke slammed the door behind him and slid the deadbolt home, before turning and walking towards the study without a word. Sebastian followed like a loyal mabari.

“Close the door, if you would, please,” Aspasia said softly as soon as Sebastian entered the room. He obliged. Aspasia gestured for him to sit in a burgundy chair by the fire as she took the other--her usual chair--for herself. Sebastian sat silently as she poured herself a cup of tea and relished the first sip. “There’s no need for you to leave just because I sent you away the other night,” she blurted.

Sebastian drew in a sharp breath. _Homed right in on it, she did._ “That’s not--I have a position to reclaim, a principality to care for. The timing is right to leave.” It wasn’t a _complete_ lie.

“So you took care of the Lady Harimann without my help? Funny, I hadn’t heard anything,” Aspasia said wryly as she took another sip, her pinky extended emphatically.

“Well, no, I haven’t, but--”

Aspasia set her cup and saucer down on the side table, shaking her head lightly. “I knew you didn’t, Sebastian. I saw her in the market this morning. That’s not the point. Wasn’t taking care of her your entire reason for joining my crew?”

“Yes, but I--”

Hawke stood, folding her arms. “And you haven’t done that, so if you’re leaving, how do you plan to accomplish it? Because it would be unfathomably foolish to attempt a return to your homeland with her--to say nothing of those under her thrall--still capable of striking against you. Or did you have other motives for joining my crew, like spying for the Chantry or Templars?”

“No. No other motives, I swear to you,” Sebastian said quietly. He could feel the tips of his ears beginning to feel hot.

“So you didn’t have any other motives to join me other than taking down Johane Harimann, yet you are suddenly content to leave the city without doing so,” Hawke said as she paced slowly in front of the fireplace, between her chair and Sebastian’s. “And this sudden need to leave the city _just so happens_ to coincide with my taking Anders’ advice about future jobs.” She stopped, putting her hands on her hips as she looked down at Sebastian in amusement. “You’re jealous of him.”

Sebastian stood, towering over Hawke. “ _What_? I am no such thing! I took a vow of chastity, why would I ever be jealous of--”

“I’m not saying you’re jealous because you want to take me here and now, Vael,” Aspasia said, rolling her eyes. “But I think you’re jealous that I valued his opinion over yours the other night.”

Sebastian let out a frustrated huff as he turned away from her and ran a hand through his auburn hair. “Not jealous, so much,” he admitted. “Perhaps disrespected would be a better word? You came to me with concerns about how controlling he is, I gave you advice, and yet you’re still his puppet! I don’t understand why you would ask for my advice if you truly did not want my help.”

“I-I don’t know why I listened to him, actually,” Aspasia said, voice barely above a whisper. “I had even told him earlier in the day that I was ending the relationship, because it was interfering with our work. And yet, in that moment, my mouth was saying words before my brain had time to stop them. I could tell that you were upset about something more than not going on the job, but I was so stunned when you said you were done with us--with _me_ \--that I couldn’t say anything.” She put a gentle hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I dragged you into this. I just didn’t know who else I could trust.”

Sebastian let out a breath and spun to face the petite mage. “Of course you can trust me, Hawke. I’ll always consider you a friend, even if it seemed anything but the other night. And you didn’t drag me into anything. I could see something was bothering you, so I coaxed it out of you. If anything, I dragged myself into this. I just want to see you happy, and as of late, Anders seems to have you on edge. But you did end the relationship, you said?”

“Yes, and he’s been none too happy about it,” Aspasia said, looking down at the flames. “I haven’t seen or heard from him since the other night after we found Emeric’s body.”

Sebastian furrowed his brow. “Emeric’s body?”

Aspasia nodded. “Yes. It looks like someone was trying to set me up to take the fall for his death. Given his corpse was surrounded by shades and demons, I do believe we got the attention of the real killer.”

Sebastian shook his head. “That’s a shame. Emeric was a good man. As for Anders, I was afraid he’d react poorly,” he groused. “My offer still stands. If you need anything, if you feel threatened in any way, I’m here for you. It’s the least I can offer, for all you’ve done for me and my family.” He smiled warmly.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” Aspasia said as she suddenly flung her arms around Sebastian. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist and hunched over to hold her closer. “I'm sorry I hurt you. I don’t know what I did to have the Maker bring you into my life, but I’m so grateful,” she whispered into his ear.

Sebastian inhaled sharply and turned his head to whisper his agreement, but somehow Aspasia also turned her head at the same time, and he wound up accidentally kissing her cheek. He jerked his head away, cheeks burning in embarrassment as he let her go. “Hawke, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“It’s fine,” Aspasia said with a wave of her hand. She paused and giggled lightly. “Am I going to get another lecture on how I’m too much of a temptation, like the last time I hugged you?”

Sebastian’s embarrassment morphed into guilt. “Hawke, you know I didn’t intend for you to feel badly about that--”

Aspasia arched an eyebrow as a smirk tugged at her lips. “Sebastian. Relax. I’m teasing you.”

Sebastian shook his head in self-chastisement as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked down at the rug and began to chuckle to himself. The chuckle became a giggle, and then the giggle became a full laugh. Aspasia looked on, bemused. “I’m sorry,” Sebastian said between laughs, wiping a tear from his eye. “Nothing you did or said, it just struck me how silly this all has been lately. I’ve been so uptight, between looking over my shoulder and wanting everything to go perfectly, that I swear I’ve turned into my _father_! I assure you, Hawke, I’m not without a sense of humor.”

Aspasia walked over to the bookshelf closest to her chair, running her fingers along the spines. “So you keep saying, yet we keep ending up like this. I think perhaps you need to join us at the Hanged Man from time to time. I know that you don’t drink, and I’m definitely not saying you have to, but I think the others will feel better about you watching their backs if you at least make an effort to get to know them. And that goes both ways, of course.”

“True. Perhaps we can go later,” Sebastian replied as he unconsciously began to inspect the books on the shelf nearest his own chair, unaware he was mirroring Hawke’s actions. “But… I, uh, did have another reason for coming by. I mean, I did want to make amends first and foremost, but you are right about the Lady Harimann. I can’t leave with her still a threat. I know she’s just returned from a trip to Starkhaven, and I’d like to resolve this matter before she has the chance to leave again.”

Aspasia put her finger on her chin thoughtfully as she gazed at her books. “Perhaps she is behind the influx of foreign mages? There have been at least a half-dozen milling about Hightown like they own the place. Arrived yesterday, I think.”

Sebastian whipped his head towards Aspasia, aqua eyes narrowing. “That’s when Johane returned to Kirkwall--yesterday.”

Concerned, Aspasia quickly walked over to Sebastian. “We should pay a visit to Jean-Luc. If there’s anything going on, he’ll know. Give me a moment to get dressed and we’ll go now,” she said, leaving Sebastian in the study. She ran up the stairs to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She let out a contented sigh and grinned. _He’s so warm and strong and I feel safe with him… I wonder if I can arrange another accidental kiss?_

As soon as Aspasia left, Sebastian smiled to himself. _Aye, that smooch may have been an accident, but I won’t deny that I enjoyed it. She has such velvety-soft skin, and smells like the honeysuckle bushes that grew in Mother’s garden. Maybe Richard’s right. Perhaps I shouldn’t close the door on Hawke._

The archer was lost in thought when Aspasia walked back into the study. “Ready to go?” She asked, putting a hand on her hip.

“Yes, let’s get to the bottom of this.” Sebastian replied. He couldn’t place it, but he felt that something had changed between them, somehow. _You’re probably overthinking this,_ he mused. _It was an accident. You apologized, she accepted. Move on._

The walk to the Hightown market was made in silence. Sebastian was too preoccupied with trying to not look over at Hawke too often, and Hawke was too preoccupied with trying to spot foreign mages. “There, look to your left, but don’t make it obvious,” Hawke muttered under her breath. “Do you recognize the way they dress? Could they be from Starkhaven by any chance?”

Sebastian cast a furtive glance to his left. “No. Our mages live in the Circle, so they wear the traditional robes. I don’t recognize--why is everything they’re wearing so… pointy?”

“Damn,” Hawke whispered. “I’d hoped they were from your homeland. I certainly hope Jean-Luc knows where they’re from.”

Moments later, they arrived at Jean-Luc’s booth. To their surprise, two of the foreign mages were just concluding a transaction with the merchant. “Guess Jean-Luc knows about them,” Sebastian observed. The foreign mages began walking towards them. Hawke deftly pulled Sebastian towards the weapons booth. “Here, darling, this is the merchant who sold me your new bow,” she said just loud enough to be overheard, playing the part of doting wife perfectly.

Sebastian smirked. “Thank you, dearest,” he replied, playing along as he pretended to inspect one of the bows hanging on the back wall of the booth. _Publicly pretending that we’re together? Tongues will wag, that’s for sure. But it’s for the greater good… I hope._

“Sorry, Korval,” Hawke said softly. “Trying to blend in, for once.”

“Hey, if it has anything to do with those creepy mages around here, blend away. They’re gone now, by the way,” Korval offered.

Aspasia nodded her thanks and gently tugged at Sebastian’s arm. They crossed the market to Jean-Luc, who was busy stuffing something under his table.

“Hawke! My favorite customer,” Jean-Luc proclaimed as soon as he looked up. Hawke put a finger to her lips. “Sorry! How can I help today?”

Hawke pretended to inspect a folded robe on the table. “Those mages--the ones who just left. Where are they from?”

“Tevinter. They’re here to study at the Harimann estate. Lord Harimann was expanding his wine cellar a few years back when they opened up some kind of ancient ruin. A few scholars come here every year to catalog their findings. Like this,” Jean-Luc explained, crouching down and grabbing something from underneath his table. He handed Hawke a small carved idol. “Apparently this is over a thousand years old, and it’s just the tip of the iceberg, they say.”

“Have they made any unusual requests for equipment?” Sebastian asked, watching the merchant closely for any unusual facial or body movements as Hawke inspected the idol.

Jean-Luc rubbed at his nose. “Nothing too out of the ordinary, aside from the massive amounts of lyrium they need to purify the ruins. They pay more than market price for it, which is just fine by me. Those ‘Vints aren’t bad. They even invited me to their Wintersend party on Thursday night,” he explained with a flippant wave of his hand.

Hawke furrowed her brow. “Tevinter mages celebrating Wintersend? Granted, I’m no expert in Tevinter customs, but that seems...odd.”

Jean-Luc shrugged. “The oddest part is that I’ll have to find myself a young maiden to bring as my guest. The wife will be none too pleased.”

“Was that specifically on the invitation?” Hawke asked, her sapphire eyes narrowing.

“See for yourself,” Jean-Luc replied as he again rummaged under his table. He stood and handed an ivory engraved card to Hawke. The ginger mage scanned it quickly, her face unreadable.

“So it says. Thank you, Jean-Luc. I’ll be by tomorrow with the measurements for that new robe we talked about,” Hawke said politely. She glanced up at Sebastian. “But for now, I think we’ll finish our afternoon stroll. What say you, my dear?”

Sebastian coughed, caught off-guard. “Good. Sounds good, sweetheart,” he spluttered. He offered his arm and dutifully led Hawke back up the stairs towards the Hightown estates. He looked down at Aspasia, her ginger curls glittering in the sunlight, cheeks pink from the crisp winter air, and smiled to himself.  _A beautiful day, with a beautiful woman on my arm. Even though we're just pretending... I could get used to this._ “So… what are your thoughts?” he asked once they were out of earshot. "I cannot be sure that we weren’t watched, or that Jean-Luc isn’t going to turn around and tell those mages that we were asking about them. He was lying when I asked him about what the mages had been buying."

Hawke took a deep breath and gripped his arm tighter. “We were definitely being watched. My thoughts are that we need the rest of the crew here as soon as possible. We strike tonight.” They stopped just in front of Hawke’s door.

Sebastian swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising anxiety within. “I should go to the Chantry to get Richard.”

Hawke’s face turned grave. “I’d prefer you stay close to me, Sebastian. I'll send Bodahn to get Richard.” She opened her door and gestured for Sebastian to enter.

“As you wish,” Sebastian replied casually as he walked through the door, but internally he was anything but calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooooo! My muse has been pretty fickle, but he came back last week so I wanted to get another chapter up. Did Hawke conveniently arrange for Sebastian to accidentally kiss her cheek? Thedas may never know. *wink*


	22. Repentance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An end, once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Game dialogue in places.

 

**_Kirkwall, Hawke Estate, 28th of Wintermarch, an hour later…_ **

Sebastian stood in the corner of the loft in Hawke’s study, shaking his head in disbelief. His ears rang from the cacophony that only Hawke’s crew could produce. Anders was yelling at Fenris about mage rights, Aveline was desperately trying to keep Isabela from drawing dicks in Hawke’s journal, Varric was cackling at everyone, and Merrill was babbling to herself in the corner, not far from where he stood.  _ How does Hawke do it? How does she ever get them to work together?  _

It didn’t take long for Sebastian to get an answer. Hawke strode up the stairs, an impossibly-old black leather-bound tome in her arms. She set it down on one of the tables, turned around, put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. 

“That’s enough!” she yelled. “We don’t have time for this garbage. Now, get over here, so we can discuss tonight’s plan.” 

Hawke deftly opened the book to a page marked by a crimson ribbon. “This is my father’s grimoire. It’s been in our family for generations. Some of the writing in here is centuries old.” Everyone, Sebastian included, gathered around the petite ginger as she hunched over the open book. Pointing at a crude drawing of an idol, Hawke said, “This is what Jean-Luc showed us earlier today. It’s Tevinter. I’m not sure what the connection is, but it may be used as part of this spell here to create a massive breach in the Veil. The spell also calls for massive amounts of lyrium, as well as a ‘pure’ sacrifice.” She stood upright, her face grave. “The Tevinter mages who are claiming to be at the Harimann estate as scholars have not only been buying lyrium for way over market value, they also asked Jean-Luc to bring a young maiden to their Wintersend party. I believe they are about to perform this ritual.”

“That’s less than 48 hours from now,” Fenris surmised.

“That’s why we must strike tonight, before Johane and her mages are able to gather any more strength or materials for this ritual,” Hawke replied, nodding. "This spell wouldn't create a little weak spot in the Veil. This much lyrium would blow the Veil wide open. Demons would be free to pour into our world. We have to stop this."

“And we’re supposed to do this…  _ blind _ ?” Anders challenged. “This is precisely why mages must be free! We are about to condemn these people on circumstantial evidence!”

“Anders, you well know that Johane Harimann has been trying to have me killed,” Sebastian said, glaring at the rebel mage. 

Anders rolled his eyes. “That brings me to my other point. We’re about to do this for YOU, a known mage-hater and religious zealot. I can’t think of a person less worthy--”

“Anders, that’s enough!” Aveline barked. “As Captain of the City Guard, I find just cause to investigate and eliminate this threat if need be. We cannot have a stockpile of lyrium sitting under Hightown, nor can we have a tear of _any_ size in the Veil. Either on its own would be a threat to the city, but together? And with the Qunari frothing at the mouth? I cannot allow it.” She folded her chiseled arms defiantly.

“Anders, if you have a problem working with Sebastian, I suggest you go back to your clinic,” Hawke said, voice wavering slightly. 

Anders looked as though he’d been sucker-punched in the gut. “Very well. I’ll be glad to avoid this mess, anyway.” He shoved his way past everyone, knocking into Sebastian’s shoulder particularly hard, and stormed out of Hawke’s estate.

Hawke let out a deep sigh. “If anyone else has a problem helping Sebastian or dealing with a pack of mages and probably more than a few demons, speak up now.”

Isabela flung a hand up. “Magey-demon things really aren’t my specialty. Besides, I had a bit too much fun last night and I’m still feeling a bit wobbly. I think I’ll sit this one out.”

“As will I,” Varric said. “I mean, I assume Sebastian will be your archer. Better to take Merrill rather than me since I can’t heal for shit. She’s cuter, too. Stop by the Hanged Man when you’re done, will ya? I’d like to know how this all plays out for my--uh, for science.” Varric and the pirate left together. 

“If I go, I can be sure that everything is recorded properly, in case the Viscount needs to be involved somehow,” Aveline offered. “But I must say, I haven’t quite fully recovered from the twisted ankle I got last week up on the coast. I'm not entirely comfortable going into something like this at less than full-strength.”

“I think I can handle the Viscount if he comes asking about the Harimann estate,” Hawke said reassuringly. “Fenris, you’re available tonight, right?”

“I am, though I kindly ask that you and Merrill do your best to keep demons off me,” Fenris replied. 

“Oh, demons aren’t all that scary,” Merrill said in her lilting tone. “Most just want our help.”

“Yes, our  _ help _ . We  _ help _ them cross into our world, and then they destroy us all. Not scary in the slightest,” Fenris growled.

“Let’s not start with this crap before we even leave the estate,” Hawke cautioned with a wearied sigh. “We need to remember we’re all on the same side, and tonight, that side does not want demons running loose in Kirkwall, got it?”

Everyone nodded. 

“Hawke, did you send for Richard? He hasn’t arrived yet,” Sebastian asked nervously. 

“I did. He sends his regrets, and that you know why he cannot attend,” Hawke replied matter-of-factly.

“Ah,” Sebastian muttered, his anxiety ratcheting up several notches.  _ I don’t know why I thought he would suddenly decide to involve himself. He did tell me several times that he couldn’t. _

“We all have our equipment, potions, et cetera, right?” Hawke asked. A mass of nodding heads silently replied. “Let’s get on with this, then,” she declared, leading her crew through the estate.

As they slipped into the wintery night, Sebastian heard a familiar voice.  _ Get me as close as you can to the tear, and I will return to the Fade. But if there are demons down there, run. Run as fast as you can, because they will sense me and you will be in grave danger.  _

“Understood,” Sebastian muttered under his breath. Fenris, who was walking beside him, cocked his ear slightly at the sound of the archer’s voice, but quickly shrugged it off.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Kirkwall, Harimann Estate…_ **

Hawke led the way down what everyone hoped would be the final staircase, preferably with no additional squadrons of mercenaries, Tevinter blood mages, or demons awaiting them. She held up a halting hand to her companions. “Looks like we may be too late,” she whispered. At the far end of the vaulted ruin, a desire demon levitated in the air, with a woman kneeling before them. 

Sebastian’s blood ran cold as the four approached slowly.  _ Here we are, _ he thought to himself as he looked around at the Tevinter ruins.  _ The viper’s nest itself.  _ His hands started to tremble and his gut twisted itself in knots as he pictured himself nocking an arrow and firing a fatal shot into Johane Harimann, something he’d played through in his mind over and over again since learning of her treachery.

A voice jolted him out of his reverie.  _ Didn’t I tell you to run if you saw demons down here? _

“Well, yes, but Hawke handled them. I’ll hang back and she’ll handle this one too,” Sebastian muttered under his breath so that the others could not hear.

_ If you insist. Proceed carefully. The Veil is weakest at the altar, and you need to get right next to it for me to cross over, but that demon is far more powerful than it appears.  _

“Noted,” Sebastian mumbled, uneasy. His aqua eyes narrowed on the kneeling woman.  _ Johane Harimann. At last.  _ It took all he had to not fire an arrow at her right then and there, but he knew that acting rashly would put his companions at risk.

“You must give me more. Starkhaven will not submit! I put that idiot Goran Vael into the prince’s seat but the other families won’t heed him! I’ve married him to Flora, to solidify our hold, but I need more power,” Johane Harimann begged.

The desire demon frowned. “I have given you much. Your desires run deep. You’ve already traded your husband and your children. What more can you offer?”

“What bargain have you made?” Hawke bellowed, closing the remaining distance in a few powerful strides. 

Johane shot to her feet. “What is this? Who are you? How did you get here?” she demanded. A look of bewilderment crossed her face as she laid eyes upon Sebastian. “Sebastian?”

The familiarity they had shared when he was a boy was gone, replaced with righteous fury. “You were my mother’s friend,” the archer growled. “How could you murder her?”

“Such an ugly word,” Allure cooed. “I prefer the term ‘removed the only obstacle between her and her dreams.’”

“This was  _ your _ idea!” Sebastian accused, pointing at the demon. He felt queasy, facing such an evil creature. 

Allure smirked and shrugged their shoulders. “I could create such desires if I wished, but it’s far easier to nurture those that already exist. The desire for power is easy to find. You and your friend both possess it, do you not?” Sebastian and Hawke exchanged an uneasy, guilty glance. “You both wish to rise.”

Faith’s voice broke Sebastian’s thoughts again, more insistent this time.  _ The demon senses me, Sebastian. I can feel their touch. Either get to the altar now, or leave.  _ But the archer didn’t move, determined to see this through.

“Not if it meant selling out my family,” Hawke shot back.

“How loyal are your friends to you?” Allure asked. “Everyone has a price. Everyone wants something.” The demon approached Hawke. The images flashed by almost too quickly to register as Hawke struggled to resist the demon’s touch, but she still saw too much.  _ Kirkwall burning. Lothering in full springtime bloom. Bethany’s brilliant smile. Father’s soothing voice. A kick in her swollen belly as a man’s hand gently caressed their unborn child.  _ Weakened, the mage’s eyes fluttered and she let out a contented sigh as Allure reached out to cup her cheek.

_ Hawke is trained to resist, and look at how easily-- _

“Do not listen to her,” Sebastian barked. Allure shifted their focus towards him for the briefest of moments, which was all Hawke needed to break Allure’s hold and jolt back to the present. 

Allure narrowed their gaze on the archer. “Oh, such a pious soul. Masking so much ambition. Are you so different from my lady? You both desire the same lands, the same power.”

Hawke quickly conjured a barrier around Sebastian and urged Fenris to move away from the demon, lest he be targeted as well.

“I am the rightful heir! She is a usurper and murderer!” Sebastian yelled, nostrils flaring in anger. 

Allure floated closer to Sebastian, locking their yellow, cat-like eyes with his as she passed through Hawke’s barrier without resistance. “You swore to put aside worldly goods and ambitions, but it couldn’t stop you from wanting them.”

“You and the Lady Harimann  _ are _ fighting for the same thing, aren’t you?” Hawke asked, desperate to distract the demon in order to let Sebastian escape their clutches, but it failed. Allure floated even closer to Sebastian, now so close that they could touch him.

“Regaining my birthright is hardly the same as stealing it from another,” Sebastian shot back.

_ Sebastian, I’m serious. Get out of here. NOW. The demon is going to-- _

Faith was silenced as Allure seductively brushed his cheek with the back of their hand. “But you want it. You had resigned yourself to letting your brother rule, yet now that seat glitters before you. You’ve always wanted it. You needn’t deny it any longer. All you have to do is kill anyone in your way.”

As Allure’s words floated through Sebastian’s mind, a vision began to flash before his eyes.  _ Starkhaven’s throne sat empty, bathed in colored washes of light from the stained glass windows of the throne room. Sebastian walked towards it, but something felt off. As he set foot on the first step of the dais, the throne burst into flames, and he could feel the heat prickling at his skin. He backed away, realizing that he was holding something in his hand. He looked down and saw his father’s crown, dripping with blood. Horrified, Sebastian dropped the crown and ran out of the throne room. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it as he closed his eyes. “Sebastian, love, to me,” a familiar voice called and he opened his eyes, suddenly finding his hands on the hips of a nameless, faceless woman, spurred by her lustful cries and he was eagerly indulging her.  _

Allure soothed his fears, urging desires he’d long thought quelled, and their hungry gaze intensified as Sebastian gave himself over to the vision they’d conjured. Faith, for all their warnings, was eerily silent.

_ He screwed his eyes shut and felt waves of pleasure washing over him as he ran a hand up her back, twisting his fingers into her hair and pulling hard. He opened his eyes to look at the hair in his hand. He caught the briefest glimpse of ginger curls spiralled around his fingers, nearly too brief to even register, when a bolt of lightning blinded him.  _ Allure used his energy to further weaken the Veil at the altar, and a small breach began to form. Sebastian felt a splitting, tearing sensation from deep within, at his very core, far worse than the others he’d been feeling as of late. He screamed and writhed in pain as he fell to the ground, completely paralyzed.

“Sebastian!” Hawke rushed to the archer’s side, his body shining with a blinding light. A moment later, Allure screamed. The blinding light had left Sebastian and flown towards the demon, stunning them. The light settled on the dirt, dimming into the vague shape of a human.

“Now, before the demon can recover!” Fenris cried as he charged towards Allure. Allure quickly drew several shades and a rather nasty rage demon across the Veil before the swirling breach suddenly snapped shut. Fenris struck Allure with the pommel of his greatsword and slashed at them as they lay on the ground. Merrill sent a stonefist towards the gobsmacked Johane, who had been standing to the side, striking the blood mage before she could defend herself. Her leg crumpled beneath her, obviously broken. Hawke returned to the fight, casting a tempest spell on the shades, who were converging upon Fenris. Still on the ground, Johane crawled to the side of the chamber, not far from where Sebastian lay unconscious, and fumbled through her belt pouch as she locked her glare on the archer.

“Merrill, defend Sebastian!” Hawke stood just out of Allure’s range while she and Fenris quickly shredded her defenses. 

Merrill nodded and ran to Sebastian, kneeling beside him as she cast a glyph of paralysis on Johane. She forced Sebastian’s mouth open, carefully pouring a health potion down his throat, eyes never leaving Johane for a moment, just in case the mage broke out of the glyph. Sebastian spluttered as he woke, dazed, but was able to pull himself together enough to stand within a few moments. He shook his head to rid himself of the cobwebs, saw Johane, and picked up his bow, nocking an arrow. 

The mage glared at Sebastian. “Is this really what the Chantry teaches our young men and women? Is this what the Maker has guided you to? Murder?” She broke the glyph and crawled towards him like a tiger stalking its prey. Merrill drew deep from her mana, ready to cast, but Sebastian raised a halting hand. 

Sebastian’s jaw set as he pulled his bowstring taut. “Don’t you dare speak of the Maker, as if you know anything of faith!” The bowstring had been nearly impossible to pull, a stark reminder that Faith had made his very survival possible. His shoulder seared in pain, but he hesitated to release the arrow.  _ Do it. You’ve waited for this moment. End her! _

Johane peaked an eyebrow. “Your father loved me, long before your mother came into the picture, did you know that? Would you want to hurt him even more than your rakish ways did?”

_ Could she be telling the truth? Is she a scorned lover? How could Father love a mage? He hated them!  _ Sebastian let out a frustrated huff, his shoulder and arm starting to shake as he snapped back to the present.  _ None of this matters now.  _ “My father is dead, along with my mother, and so is any love he ever had to share with this world. You are so far twisted from anything worthy of love now that I doubt he would have minded this.” He loosed his arrow, which struck the stunned Johane between the eyes. Dark blood oozed from the wound, dripping onto the dirt floor of the ruin as the mage’s spirit slipped away beyond the Veil.

Allure fell moments later, thanks to the combined efforts of Hawke and Fenris. The pair ran to Sebastian, who stood frozen in the follow through of his shot, staring at the blood pooling beneath Johane’s head. 

“Sebastian, it’s over,” Hawke said softly as she put a gentle hand on his shoulder. All at once, he dropped his bow and his knees buckled as he collapsed from the intense pain in his shoulder. Fenris and Hawke caught him before he fell, guiding him to a stone bench. 

The air was thick with tense silence for several long moments. Merrill was almost afraid to breathe, lest she upset anyone. Finally, Sebastian looked up at his companions, his breathing ragged. “It’s over… it’s finally over. Hawke… Fenris… Merrill… I-I can’t thank you--”

“No thanks are needed, Sebastian,” Fenris interrupted. “What we stopped here… I shudder to think what might have happened, had we not intervened. Still, I am glad that your quest for justice has ended in victory.”

Still in a daze, Sebastian looked at his hands. He felt distinctly empty. Suddenly, he sprang up. “The spirit! Where is Faith?”

“What are you talking about?” Hawke called as Sebastian started running towards Allure’s corpse.

“Noooo… no, no  _ NO _ !” Sebastian cried as he found a barely-visible human form lying in a fetal position lying near the altar, scarcely two feet from safety. “You were meant to return to the Fade! Why didn’t you go home?”

Faith used the last of their strength to pull enough energy from across the thinned Veil to speak. “The demon… tried to turn me… so I left you… to protect...” The spirit trailed off and faded away, their energy dissipating until their glimmering tendrils of golden light were no longer visible. 

“Was that… a  _ spirit _ ?” Hawke asked, glaring pointedly at Sebastian. “No wonder that demon was so fixated on you! You should have told me you were like Anders, Sebastian. I need to know if my companions are at risk of becoming abominations or worse by encountering tears in the Veil.”

“I was  _ never _ like Anders, Hawke,” Sebastian spat, insulted. “I never willingly took the spirit into my being. Faith was forced upon me by a healer in an effort to save my life, which they did. Orsino wouldn’t open the Veil to send them back to the Fade, so he told me to travel with you, to try and find a tear in the Veil so they could cross back on their own--which they wanted to do. What I didn’t expect was that the spirit would sacrifice theirself to protect me from the demon’s touch.”

“The…  _ spirit… _ said the demon was turning them? Turning them into  _ what _ , exactly?” Fenris asked skeptically.

“A pride demon. You didn’t notice?” Merrill chimed in. “I saw it. Sebastian relaxed for just a moment when the demon was talking about power and crowns and such. He started to change. The spirit was turning into a demon right then, and had the spirit not torn theirself from his body we would have had to kill Sebastian. You’re quite lucky, you know.”

“Thank you… I think,” Sebastian muttered, stunned by Merrill’s account. He turned to Hawke. “I’m sorry to rush you, but I need to get back to the Chantry. I feel…  _ filthy _ .”

“Understood, Sebastian. Let us grab what we can and leave this place,” Hawke said gently.

The quartet had scarcely reached the lowest level of the Harimann estate proper when Flora rushed towards them. “Sebastian? Is that you? Thank the Maker you’ve survived!”

Sebastian backed away from the woman, horrified. “Flora! How could you stand by and let your mother--”

“She  _ sold _ us, Sebastian. Sold us to that demon to fuel her madness. First it was Ruxton, then Brett. I was last because I was… she thought that I was pregnant,” Flora pleaded, glossing over her final words.

Sebastian folded his arms angrily. “ _ Thought _ you were? Flora, news of your marriage and pregnancy reached Markham. Are you saying you were never with my cousin’s child?”

Flora shook her head adamantly, unable to meet Sebastian’s steely glare. “I  _ was _ pregnant! I swear it! It just… it wasn’t Goran’s. But I lost the baby during our trip here and didn’t have the heart to tell Mother. Didn't take long for her to figure it out, though, since my belly never swelled.”

Sebastian glared at Flora. “So you forced my cousin to marry you under false pretenses.”

Flora let out a frustrated huff. “Yes. Sebastian, he wasn’t going to marry me otherwise, and Mother kept saying that if I couldn’t find a way to win him over, that she was going to disown me! What would you have done?” She threw up her hands in exasperation.

Sebastian ran his hand over the rough wood of the massive wine cask he stood next to. “Marry the actual father, maybe? You do realize your marriage is illegal now, right?”

Flora nodded. “I do. I have no intent to return to Starkhaven. Tell... tell Goran I died on the journey, if you would. The father is joining me here.”

Sebastian snorted derisively. “I might, if I'm feeling charitable, but I'm far more likely to tell him the truth. Who, pray tell, is the father, if not my cousin?”

“Lord Reese Dunleavy,” Flora said quietly. 

Sebastian sighed as he struggled with the surname. “Dunleavy. I… I should know that name…" He trailed off momentarily before snapping his fingers and narrowing his gaze on Flora. "Hey! They were _never_ nobility!”

“Mother forced Goran to raise the Dunleavys to a Barony after Reese helped her with some--”

“So that’s what Starkhaven has been reduced to? Titles for sale? Maker’s breath,” Sebastian growled as he pounded a fist against the wine cask, the liquid inside sloshing.

Flora raised her voice to match his. “Don’t forget it was  _ your _ father who killed half the heads of noble houses to protect you, Sebastian!”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ speak of my family ever again!” Sebastian yelled. He grabbed his bow and an arrow from his quiver, nocking it in a smooth motion. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t send you and your brothers to the grave alongside your wicked whore mother!” He raised his bow, pulling the string part of the way.

Flora blanched and began to back away from Sebastian, her hands up in surrender. “Does killing us make you any different than her? We had nothing to do with the murders, Sebastian, you’ve got to believe me! Look… I know it does nothing to bring them back, but let me try to make it up to you somehow. You need to take back your crown, right? That takes money, and money is something I definitely have.” Flora carefully removed a key on a string that had been around her neck and held it out for the archer. “Here. This is the key to our vault. It’s up one flight of stairs, in Mother’s room. Last door on the right. Take everything in there. _Please_.”

“Flora, bankrupting your family won’t bring mine back,” Sebastian said softly as he lowered his bow, shaking his head in self-admonishment. He gently pushed her outstretched hand away. 

Flora desperately thrust the key towards Sebastian again. “There’s more than just gold in there. Mother has… she took things from your family’s palace… after their deaths. It’s all in there,” Flora admitted, cheeks burning in shame. 

Sebastian snatched the key, his aqua eyes blazing in anger. “May the Maker have mercy on your family, Flora Harimann, because I certainly cannot.” He stormed up the staircase. It took all he had to not kick the door off its hinges as he barged into Johane’s quarters. The vault was at the back of the room, a massive metal door peeking out from behind a cheap tapestry. The lock tumblers echoed as they clicked and the door swung open under its own weight, revealing a room stuffed with his family’s heirlooms, some hundreds of years old. Swaths of colored, embroidered, and beaded fabrics spilled from a half-open wardrobe and Sebastian recognized some of them as his mother’s formal gowns. A glass case held precious metal circlets and jeweled tiaras, all with Starkhaven’s  _ lion rampant _ sigil. Vases, sculptures, books, and paintings, all belonging to his family, shoved into a room like a terrible secret. Tears slid down Sebastian’s cheeks as he struggled to reconcile it all. 

“Are you alright?” Hawke asked gently as she walked up behind him. 

“I--I will be,” Sebastian replied hoarsely as he wiped tears away. “It’s just… it’s like being home, there’s so much of my family’s things here. I don’t know where to begin getting it out of this place, let alone where I can store it.”

“You can store it at my estate,” Hawke offered. “I have an entire bedroom that’s unused. I’ll arrange for all of this to be transported tonight.”

Sebastian flashed a weak smile. “Thank you, Hawke. It seems I am once again in your debt.”

“You’re my friend, Sebastian. There is no such thing as a debt between us.”

Sebastian nodded and placed the key in Hawke’s hand, folding her fingers around it and clasping her closed hand in both of his as he gave her a grateful smile. He walked away without another word. 

“Why didn’t you tell him about the bow you found?” Merrill whispered as soon as Sebastian was out of earshot, holding up an ornately-carved weapon that one of the mercenaries had dropped. While the craftsmanship of the bow was clearly top-notch, it had been neglected for quite some time. Gilded sections were worn down to the wood beneath, and the varnish covering the bow was yellowed in several places. The leather grip was dried out and cracking. 

Hawke scanned the contents of the vault. “Because I wanted to see if there were any other bows in there,” she whispered, gesturing towards the vault. Seeing the confused looks on her companions’ faces, she elaborated. “Sebastian told me about his grandfather’s bow, once. Described it as the most beautiful bow he’d ever seen, and how he dreamed of inheriting it someday.” She took the bow from Merrill, inspecting it closely. “But there aren’t any bows in the vault, just swords. So I think  _ this _ bow is his grandfather’s. But it’s in rough shape, and I didn’t want him to be upset at seeing it like this. I’m going to take it to one of the weapons dealers in the market to see if it can be restored before I give it back to him.”

“Why not let Master Ilen take a look at it?” Merrill asked. “He was so happy that you found him some ironbark that I’m sure he wouldn’t charge you to fix it.”

Hawke thought for a moment. “That’s… a  _ brilliant _ idea, Merrill! Let’s go to him in the morning.”

“Well… um… perhaps  _ you _ should go.  _ Alone _ ,” Merrill said sheepishly. “The clan is still upset with me, and I don’t want to anger Master Ilen or anyone else.”

“Oh, Merrill, I’m so sorry. I’d have thought they would have gotten over this by now,” Hawke said, putting a loving hand on her friend’s shoulder.

Merrill looked down at the floor, blinking back tears. “Me too. But they haven’t. Come see me when you return, though.”

“I will,” Hawke replied. “Now come on, we need to get started on hauling this stuff back to my place. Everyone grab as much as they can carry, and I’ll have Bodahn and Sandal fetch the rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over, at least for Johane. What will happen in Starkhaven and Kirkwall now that the blood mage has been deposed? As always, thank you for all the kudos, comments, and general awesomeness. I appreciate you all so much!


	23. Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A priceless gift, a wee bit of meddling, and an unspeakable loss lead to a shift in perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Game dialogue in places. Most is modified.

**_Kirkwall Chantry, 15th of Guardian, 9:33 Dragon…_ **

Hawke strolled up behind Sebastian, who was busy changing out the incense in the braziers overhanging the Chantry entrance. She watched, fascinated, as he used a hidden rope behind the statue to lower the incense basket. He dumped out the ashes into one bucket, refilled the basket with fresh incense, and used one of the candles at the statue’s base to kindle the oil-soaked wood, blowing on the incense until it became a smoldering ember. When he finished raising the basket into its proper place, Hawke cleared her throat, causing him to turn around so fast he nearly tripped over his robe. 

“I think this is yours,” Hawke said proudly as she held out the gilt beech longbow. Master Ilen had done a remarkable job in restoring the damaged weapon to its former glory.

Sebastian’s face went white with shock and his jaw dropped. “My grandfather’s bow!” He took the weapon from Hawke, turning it over in his hands in amazement. “But where did you get it?”

Hawke shrugged. “One of the mercenaries we killed in the Harimann Estate had it.”

Sebastian traced the lion rampant that was just below the leather grip as his lower lip quivered. “Thank you. It’s hard to mourn the loss of a thing while my family lies dead, but… I did think of it.” He began to walk towards the dais, where there were fewer people to overhear them.

Hawke walked alongside him, speaking in a hushed tone. “I recall you mentioning this bow before. What’s the story behind it?”

They reached the dais. Sebastian turned towards Hawke, his eyes still fixated on the bow. “As the youngest son, it was my place to lead Starkhaven’s militia. But I never had a talent for swordplay. Too much getting hit!” He chuckled, and then grew serious. “My grandfather said the bow is the wise man’s weapon. You can defend your city without opening its gates. Grandfather said the day I could string his bow and pull it, it would be mine.”

Hawke’s face twisted in confusion. “Then… why didn’t you have it with you?”

Sebastian smiled. “I was thirteen when my grandfather made me that promise.” He brought the unstrung bow up, pretending to sight his target. “I would rise at dawn to practice my shots until I could hit the eye slit of a helmet from the top of the ramparts.” He lowered the bow again, marveling at the weapon’s beauty. “But this… is a powerful bow, and it takes considerable strength just to hook the string. Grandfather died before I was strong enough to do so. My grandmother gave me the bow after he died, but my father took it back after a-- uh, when I was pledged to the Chantry.”

Hawke smirked. “Were you and your grandfather close?”

Sebastian’s voice dropped low. “Very. I was devastated when he died. He was a man of the world. Prince of Starkhaven. Yet he had the most unshakeable faith in the Maker. When my parents threatened to pledge me to the Chantry, he told me he’d gladly trade his title for a life of contemplation. The Maker ordained a place for each of us, I remember him saying. We have only to serve.”

Hawke looked down at the rug, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry I never got a chance to meet him. To save them.”

Sebastian nodded grimly. “I know. I think my family would have adored you, Hawke.” He flashed a grin at the petite mage. “You’re a true friend. You brought me this to remember and honor them. But if I could bring back our lowest servant by snapping it in half, I’d do it, without regret.” He looked at the bow in his hands, and then met Hawke’s eyes. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you since--” He turned away, ashamed.

Hawke stood beside him. “It’s perfectly understandable, Sebastian. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re feeling right now. Just know that I’m here, whenever you need.”

Sebastian leaned over the railing of the dais. “I know, and thank you. I had hoped that prayer would cleanse me of the demon’s touch, but I still hear her voice so clearly. I feel like I’ve bathed in filth that will never come off.”

Hawke also leaned over the railing, turning herself towards the archer. “You acted honorably. Why are you ashamed?”

Sebastian shook his head. “The demon didn’t lie. I used to be bitterly jealous of my brother. I wanted to be prince.” He pushed away from the railing in disgust. “Now everything he had is mine, and he lies in ashes. I keep asking myself, do I want this because it’s right, or to simply have what I never thought I could?”

“Don’t let the demon make you doubt yourself,” Hawke said firmly.

Sebastian stroked his chin as he looked down and away from Hawke. “In trying to retake Starkhaven, I’ve already brought death to so many. Could I ever do enough good as Prince to justify that?” He met her gaze and offered an earnest smile. “Anyway, I owe you more than I can say, Hawke. I will offer my services to you here before I move on.”

“I can think of a few services for you to perform,” Hawke teased as she smiled seductively.

“What? Why are you smiling like-- _ OH _ . Oh, my. T-that’s not what I meant.” Sebastian awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh, come now, you’ve already kissed me once. It won’t hurt you to kiss me again,” Hawke whispered.

Sebastian’s face grew hot with embarrassment. “That--that was an accident! I told you--”

“ _ Teasing _ , Sebastian. But… just putting this out there… I, uh, wouldn’t mind pretending to be a couple with you again.”

Sebastian blushed furiously.  _ Nor would I, Aspasia.  _ “Ah, I think I need to pray. A lot.” He abruptly walked past Hawke, desperate to reach his quarters as fast as possible. 

Richard was in his room when he arrived, attempting to tuck a piece of paper under the candlestick on Sebastian’s nightstand when the archer opened the door. “What are you doing here?” Sebastian demanded. 

“I, uh, wanted to talk to you, make sure you’re alright. We also need to talk about leaving for Starkhaven,” the Seeker lied, the paper he’d tried to leave behind now trembling in his hands. 

Sebastian furrowed his brow when he saw Richard’s shaking hands. “What’s that?” he asked as he sat on the edge of his bed. Richard sat beside him.

Richard took a deep breath and let it out in a huff as he shoved the letter inside his belt pouch. “It’s nothing, really, just an update from Bryan,” he lied. “He says Starkhaven is like a new city with Johane dead. He’s finding it quite easy to hold Goran’s ear now. I think the diplomatic resolution you’d hoped for is in sight.”

“Richard, I hardly feel I’m ready to--”

Richard finally noticed the bow Sebastian had in his hands. “Where did that bow come from? It looks fam--oh,  _ Maker _ . That’s your grandda’s bow, isn’t it?”

Sebastian wiped away a tear as he nodded. “Aye. Hawke found it in the Harimann mansion.”

Richard angled his head for a better look at the weapon. “Looks like she had it restored, too. The varnish looks fresh.”

“It does? Hmm, I guess you’re right. In the moment, I didn’t inspect it very closely,” Sebastian muttered as he began to inspect every inch of the bow. As Richard had guessed, it had been meticulously restored, looking even better than it had when he was a boy. “I just--I can’t believe she would not only spot this in the Harimann mansion, but she… she fixed it, too.” He stared at the bow in his hands, dumbfounded. “She fixed  _ everything _ , not just the bow,” he whispered.

Richard clasped his shoulder, his gray-green eyes boring into Sebastian’s. “Indeed, she has. She’s proven herself time and again to be the best ally you could possibly have obtained. Best keep on her good side.”

“I will,” Sebastian nodded as he bit at his lower lip to keep from crying.

“So… what are you waiting for? Let’s go shoot that bow and discuss our exit strategy,” Richard said, perhaps a bit too brightly to be believable.

Sebastian hesitated. “I… very well.”

Richard cocked his head. “Why the hesitation?”

Sebastian stood, still staring at the bow in amazement. “Grandfather always promised me that the bow would be mine as soon as I could string and pull it.” He looked at Richard sheepishly. “I’ve… never actually managed to do that.”

“Are you afraid you won’t be able to? You’re a fair bit stronger than you were as a lad, you know,” Richard said, amused.

Sebastian chuckled uneasily. “Kind of, yeah. It’s just… it’s nothing. Let’s go.”

Sebastian grabbed his quiver and they walked out of Sebastian’s quarters, through the Chantry, and made their way out the rear exit to the garden. A hidden courtyard surrounded by the imposing walls of the horseshoe-shaped Chantry, the garden was somewhere that Sebastian came to often in order to reflect and recharge. It didn’t hurt that at the very rear of the garden was a secluded corner, surrounded by taller hedges, where Elthina had allowed him to set up a target for archery practice so that he didn’t have to make the journey down to the Templar barracks every day. 

“Moment of truth,” Richard teased as they reached the target. He perched on the lone bench. 

“Indeed,” Sebastian said, voice breaking. He swallowed hard as he looked at his grandfather’s bow in his hands. String in hand, he slid the top loop down over the upper nock, until he had enough slack to hook the bottom loop into the lower nock. He then set the bottom of the bow against his right foot, stepping through with his other and letting the bow rest against his left leg. He looked at the upper nock and took a deep breath.  _ This is it. The one thing I ever really wanted. The only thing I ever worked for.  _ He pushed down on the top of the bow and deftly slid the top loop up until it settled into the upper nock, just like he’d done thousands of times with dozens of bows. In a moment, he’d done what he dreamed of doing since he was a boy--he’d finally strung his grandfather’s bow.  _ And if I can string it, I should be able to pull it. _

“You made that look easy enough,” Richard said quietly as he watched Sebastian closely. He could see the archer was struggling to fight back tears. 

Sebastian nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. He let out a breath and reached over his shoulder, grabbing a freshly-made arrow from his quiver. Nocking it, he raised the bow and sighted the target’s bullseye, surprised by how easy it was to actually pull the bowstring.  _ My other bow has a heavier pull weight? That seems impossible! _ He loosed the arrow without hesitation, frozen in the follow-through as the projectile whistled through the air and struck the target in its very center. Lowering the bow, Sebastian raised his eyebrows in disbelief as he stared at the arrow stuck in the bullseye. 

“Surprised? I’m not.”

Sebastian spun around, pointing at the target. “I--what does this mean, Richard?”

Richard shrugged. “It means you’re an exceptional archer, which you well know. Anything else you wish to ascribe to that shot is pure conjecture.”

Sebastian began to pace. “I… I told you about the dream I had, long ago? The one with the hawk and this very bow? And then I come to Kirkwall, where I meet an impossible woman who happens to be named Hawke, and Hawke was conveniently the one to give me this bow. I can’t help thinking that this is all a scheme of the Maker, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what it all means.”

Richard let out a sigh. “Yes, you told me about the dream. And yes, to some extent, I believe the Maker is at work behind some of the things that you’ve experienced, as he is for all of us. What do you want me to tell you, that Hawke is somehow bound to your destiny?”

Sebastian closed the distance between them, his aqua eyes flashing in bewilderment. “I know it sounds strange, but do you think it’s possible? I’ve felt drawn to her, somehow, since we met in the Chantry courtyard. It’s not exactly a physical attraction--I mean, she is pretty--just… I feel like we are supposed to be together, even if only as allies. I guess that’s why I’ve been reluctant to leave the city.”

“I agree,” Richard said. He turned away from Sebastian, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I think it’s time  _ I _ leave the city,” he said quietly.

“What?” Sebastian asked, gobsmacked. 

He dug into his belt pouch for the paper he had held before. “The letter wasn’t from Bryan. It was my farewell to you. Johane Harimann is dead, and with her, the threat to you. My assignment is complete, and I’ve requested to be reassigned to Denerim. Besides, Hawke has proven herself time and again as being more than capable of keeping you safe in my absence. Her rise here in Kirkwall is admirable, and you can learn much more about practical leadership from her than you ever could from me or even Elthina.”

“What are you saying?” Sebastian stumbled backwards until he bumped against the courtyard wall.

Richard pressed his lips into a thin, grim line. “I’m saying that it’s time for you to leave the Chantry, once and for all. You must declare your intent to retake the throne firmly, without wishy-washy, sort-of-but-not-quite-sworn vows of Brotherhood muddying things for your potential allies. Nobody will back a man who can’t decide if he’s a prince or priest. You’ve been a priest. Now it’s time to be a prince.”

Sebastian blinked hard to hold back the tears. “But… Richard… I can’t do any of what’s to come without you. I don’t know how.”

“Yes you can. And what you don’t know now, Hawke will show you,” Richard said, his tone deliberately cold as he kept his back towards Sebastian. He couldn’t bear to look the archer in the eyes, not now.

Sebastian shook his head. “Is this why you told me to not… how did you put it… close the door?”

“Yes. She is a good person, Sebastian,” Richard said over his shoulder. “I think you could do far worse than her for your bride, but hardly better.”

Sebastian frowned. “Are  _ you _ the reason why she’s suddenly making passes at me?”

Richard spun around, stunned. “She’s making passes at you?” Sebastian nodded, and the Seeker grinned widely. “Good for her! But no, sadly, I cannot claim credit for this new behavior.”

Sebastian’s frown turned into panic. “Richard, I am flattered by her attention, but I don’t know what to do or say when it happens. I am ashamed to admit I have no idea how to court a woman properly. I mean, Tamsyn was a complete and utter disaster.”

“Not surprising, given you had always skipped the main course to have dessert, so to speak,” Richard said with a light chuckle. “But the situation with Tamsyn was not your fault. For what it’s worth, the brief courtship you had with her went fairly smoothly, but I don’t know how much of that was due to the Teyrn’s desperation to marry her off.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “What I’m saying is that if I were to court Hawke--which I still haven’t decided on--I need your help so that I don’t screw it all up and lose one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

Richard stared at the snow-dusted grass for several tense moments. Finally, he shook his head. “Very well. For such a worthy pursuit, I shall stay. I hadn't sent my letter to Lord Seeker Lambert, yet, so it's not too late to see if Lynne is amenable to relocating here instead.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched as he recalled Lynne’s venomous voice. “Does she still… _hate_ me?”

Richard grinned. “Vehemently. It shall prove an endless source of amusement for me if she comes to Kirkwall.”

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Kirkwall, Hawke’s Estate, later that night…_ **

“Richard,” Hawke said, yawning as she closed her book. “Come, sit down. I must say, this may be the first time you’ve made a proper entrance. Definitely the first time you haven’t tried to kill me.”

“Aye, and I cannot apologize enough for those encounters, Messere,” Richard said, embarrassed, as he took the chair opposite hers. Orana offered him tea, which he politely refused.

“You didn’t know me, didn’t know my intent. I would have done the same,” Hawke said with a dismissive wave. 

Richard chuckled to himself. “That’s… why I’m here, actually. Your intent. Sebastian mentioned today that you’d made a pass at him.”

Hawke blushed. “Oh,  _ that _ . I was just teasing him. Don’t worry, I remember what you said about staying away.”

Richard leaned forward, staring intently at Hawke with his gray-green eyes, one eyebrow peaked. “So you’re not attracted to him at all?”

“I-I didn’t say I wasn’t attracted to him,” Hawke blurted, cheeks burning. “Were I blind, I would still find him attractive. He’s just… not available. It’s easier to flirt with someone who is bound by vows to not reciprocate. No pressure.”

Still leaning forward, Richard pursed his lips. “What if I told you that he’s as free as any man to pursue a relationship? He never retook his vows when we returned to Kirkwall. Will you still tease him, knowing this?”

Hawke folded her arms, looking at Richard skeptically. “If he didn’t retake his vows, how is he still able to live in the Chantry, to act as a Brother?”

Richard settled back into his chair, putting his feet up on the ottoman. “The Grand Cleric has a soft spot for him, considers him as she might a son. As such, she gives him a lot of liberties that the Divine would otherwise frown upon. Take his freedom to accompany you on jobs, for example.”

Hawke looked down at the fire, fixated on the white core of the flames. “That’s nice, but why are you telling me all of this?”

Richard smirked. “I believe he would like you to continue this… teasing.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and cocked her head. “Cut to the chase, Seeker. Are you trying to set us up?”

Richard played innocent. “If by that you mean foster the obvious affection between two consenting adults, then yes. I suppose I am.”

Hawke furrowed her brow. “I-I see. Thank you for your honesty,” she said as she began to bite at her thumbnail. 

Richard let out a huff. “Hawke, the only reason I’m here is that I’m trying to let you know that it may take some time for him to take your bait, so to speak, but it’s not for lack of interest, so keep teasing him, or whatever you call it.”

Hawke was taken aback. “Wait. He’s… interested? In  _ me _ ?”

Richard nodded. “He is terrified to pursue anything further for fear he might lose your friendship. He needs to know that--”

Hawke stood, gazing at a glass dome with a rose inside of it on her mantle. “It takes quite a bit to lose my friendship, but I… I share his concern. I think that so long as things progress at a suitable pace, everything will be fine.”

Richard stood, standing beside her. “You are far wiser than your years, Hawke. I hope, for all our sakes, that the friendship between you and Sebastian remains strong.” He dropped his voice low. “And… uh… if you could never mention this little chat to him...”

“He doesn’t know you’re here? Sneaky Seeker,” Hawke whispered.

“He  _ never _ knows when I come here, Hawke, and I’d like to keep it that way. I act, first and foremost, in his best interests, even when he doesn’t know what those interests are.” He gave a polite half-bow and walked out of the study. Moments later, the candelabra above shook as the front door to the estate closed with a thud.

Hawke sat back down in her chair, more confused than ever.  _ Even when he doesn’t know what those interests are. So does that mean he really  _ is _ interested in me, or that Richard is trying to force something that may not necessarily be there? _

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Kirkwall Chantry, 20th of Guardian, 9:33 Dragon…_ **

“Services are held at 10am on Sundays, confessions are held on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, gardens close at sunset, so you’d better hurry if you want to go out there,” Sebastian said automatically as he sensed a presence behind him. 

“Sorry, but I’m not here for any of that, Vael,” Aveline said, annoyed. 

Sebastian spun around. “Aveline. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, embarrassed. 

The guard-captain folded her formidable arms. “Why haven’t you gone to see Hawke?”

Sebastian gave Aveline a puzzled look. “She always comes by or sends a message when she needs--”

Aveline put up a halting hand. “Wait, do you not know?”

Sebastian’s heart leapt up into his throat. “Not know what?”

Aveline sighed. “Come, let us go somewhere quiet.” She began walking towards the pews flanking the dais. “I forget that you’re rather sheltered here, so of course you haven’t heard the news. Remember that job involving Emeric, the one with the older ladies going missing? He was right. Sort of. DuPuis  _ was _ involved, though just as an agent for the actual killer.”

Sebastian’s pulse quickened, the lump in his throat impossible to swallow down. “The actual killer? What happened? Is Hawke hurt?”

“No, Hawke wasn’t hurt… here, sit down,” Aveline said quietly, sitting down. Sebastian sat beside her, a knot of worry growing in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll just say it. The killer murdered her mother, Leandra, last night.”

Sebastian’s face blanched. “Maker have mercy!”

Aveline nodded grimly. “You should know… it was…  _ horrific _ . He was creating some sort of… he’d taken body parts from each of the women and put them all together to make one. Based on the shrine he’d set up in his lair, we guessed that he was trying to somehow resurrect someone he’d lost. And it worked… briefly. As soon as his magic was broken, his…  _ creation _ … ceased to be. Leandra--what was left of her, anyway--died right in Hawke’s arms.”

“What was left… Maker, I think I’ve heard enough,” Sebastian interrupted, feeling suddenly queasy. “She is at home, yes?” He felt a pang of regret at the times he’d shoved his family’s murders in her face to make a point.

Aveline nodded. “Hasn’t left her bed all day. I figured since you lost your family just as tragically, you might be able to get through to her.”

Sebastian stood abruptly. “I’ll go now. Thanks, Aveline, for letting me know.”

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

**_Kirkwall, Hawke’s Estate, minutes later…_ **

Sebastian huffed and puffed as he knocked on Hawke’s front door. Moment later, Bodahn answered, his face grave. 

“Your Highness, I sure am glad you came by. My mistress hasn’t left her room all day! Poor Hawke. Poor Leandra. After all they’ve been through, to suffer this--well, as I said, she’s in her room. Orana just took up some tea and cookies, help yourself.” The dwarf opened the door wide. 

“Thank you, Bodahn,” Sebastian replied distractedly as he made a beeline for the stairs leading towards Hawke’s room. Once at her door, he knocked gently. “Hawke? It’s Sebastian. May I come in?” No answer came, so Sebastian slowly opened the door, afraid to look inside, lest he see Hawke in a state of undress or other compromising situation. He let out a quiet sigh of relief when he saw that indeed, Hawke was in bed. Her petite frame was swallowed up by a pile of down-filled quilts, the mass occasionally shaking as the mage sobbed. His heart ached as he watched her, her pain reminding him of his own loss, despite the passage of time. 

Sebastian approached her carefully. “Hawke?” He whispered, gently placing a hand on the pile of blankets. 

Two deep blue eyes, puffy and reddened by hours of crying, peered out from under the mass. Hawke tried to speak, but couldn’t. Dissolving into tears again, she retreated under the blankets. 

Sebastian’s heart ached for Hawke as he knelt by her bed, embracing her and resting his head on where he thought her shoulder would be. “I know your pain. I know how it feels to lose everyone. I’m here for you, Hawke. Not as a Chantry Brother--though I’d gladly serve in that way--but as your friend.”

“T-thank you,” came a muffled reply. “Why? Why her?”

“I don’t know. I could say something about the Maker working in mysterious ways, but that didn’t really help me when Elthina said it. Fact is, there is evil in this world and sometimes, even when we try our hardest, we cannot stop it. I know you tried, Aspasia. You try harder than most. But if you let yourself get lost in the why, you’ll never find your way back.”

Hawke seemed to calm down, though she still shuddered with sobs from time to time. Sebastian held her for what felt like hours, until the fire began to die and he couldn’t feel his knees anymore. But he’d accomplished something in that time--Hawke had finally fallen asleep. He slowly released his grip on her and attempted to get up but failed miserably, his lower legs long asleep. Crashing into her nightstand, Sebastian chastised himself for not being more patient. He winced as a mop of ginger curls emerged from underneath the blankets.

“Don’t go-- _ please _ ,” Hawke cried, eyes widened in fear, as she scrambled to get out of bed. 

“Relax, I just wanted to put more wood on the fire,” Sebastian said assuringly, averting his eyes as he urged her to stay in bed, but it did little to assuage Hawke’s fearful look.  _ Why is she so scared--oh. This part. She feels like she’s all alone, I’ll bet.  _ “I’ll stay as long as you need me to, Aspasia. I’ll even stay overnight, if you’d like.”

Hawke burrowed back under the quilts, but did not hide completely, as she had before. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I would really like you to hold me again.”

“Of course, Hawke. And don’t worry, I’m not taking it any other way. But I’m afraid I’m going to be an uncomfortable one to snuggle with because of the armor. I don’t have anything else to wear other than the leathers underneath,” Sebastian replied, though the prospect of staying in his armor was less than appealing. 

“Carver keeps some of his clothes here,” Hawke muttered. “They’re in the wardrobe. I know there’s a nightshirt in there that should fit you.” 

Surprised, Sebastian walked over to the ornately-painted wardrobe by her bed. Inside, he found several sets of finery, but no nightshirt. Just as he resigned himself to wearing his leathers, he found the linen nightshirt. “Isn’t he going to mind if I wear this?”

“I’ll buy him a new one if he does,” Hawke said as she pulled the blankets tighter around her.

Sebastian chuckled and stepped behind Hawke’s dressing screen. He felt a funny twinge in the pit of his stomach as he slid the leather straps of his armor through the various buckles.  _ Why do I feel nervous?  _ Glad he had worn smallclothes for once, he donned the nightshirt.  _ At least there’s an extra layer under this thin shirt.  _ He shivered, though not entirely due to the chill in the air, as he emerged from behind the screen. As he tended the fire, Sebastian was surprised to find that nervous sensation growing, unchecked.  _ This is ridiculous. We are friends, and I am here to comfort her, nothing more. I am doing as she’s asked, in her time of need. Besides, we are both wearing nightclothes.  _ He stood, noticing the untouched tray on Hawke’s nightstand. “Have you eaten anything, Hawke? This tea that Orana brought has long gone cold. I can have her bring something else.”

Hawke buried her face in her pillow. “I don’t want to eat,” came the muffled reply. 

“You  _ have _ to eat, Hawke,” Sebastian admonished as he picked up the old tray. “You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t. I’m having Orana bring us some soup, and I’ll force feed you if I have to.”

Hawke sighed. “You’re stubborn, Vael, I’ll give you that.”

“I prefer tenacious, but stubborn works, too, I suppose,” Sebastian teased as he left the room. 

A few minutes later, the soup had been requested and now he stood on the empty side of Hawke’s four-poster bed, hesitant.  _ I guess stubborn also applies to how strictly I cling to these vows, because I just can’t seem to bring myself to get into her bed-- _

In a single, fluid motion, Hawke rolled back towards him, reached out for his left hand, and pulled it close to her as she rolled back to her original position. Before he had time to realize what she was doing, Sebastian was pulled onto the bed and into an awkward, semi-spooning position with the petite ginger, his right arm pinned painfully underneath him. 

“H-Hawke? Um, can I have my arm back?”

“No.”

“I would like to get under the blankets so I’m not cold. I am on the window side of the bed, after all.”

“Hmph. Fine.” Hawke released Sebastian’s hand. 

Sebastian scooted out of the bed, pulled back the blankets, and properly got into the bed, trying desperately to ignore the fact that Hawke was in a thin slip of a nightgown.  _ No wonder she’s got every blanket in the house on this bed.  _ Hawke reached back for his hand again, tucking it firmly against her stomach. Sebastian’s entire body went rigid as his fingers brushed the fine Orlesian silk.  _ I guess she really wants to be held. It’s--it’s been a long time since I held anybody. Maker, I don’t think I’ve ever held a woman like this and not had it turn into something more. Please, grant me the restraint I need to comfort Hawke.  _ He was surprised by how much body heat the woman could generate. He tried to consciously tilt his hips away from her as far as he could, but Sebastian soon found himself comforted by the feeling of her body pressed against his and relaxed into the embrace, his eyelids growing heavy.

Orana entered the bedroom and gasped. “Messere! I’m so sorry! I had no idea you were in the middle--”

Startled awake just as he’d fallen asleep, Sebastian shot up in bed. “Nothing untoward is happening! I’m just trying to comfort Hawke,” he blurted. “See? I’m in a nightshirt.”

The elf looked away, desperate to avert her eyes. “Oh! Still, I hope I didn’t disturb you--”

“Orana, he asked you to bring soup. Why would you be disturbing us for doing what he asked?” Hawke grumbled, slowly sitting up in bed. She tucked the blankets firmly under her arms to cover herself as much as possible. The elven servant nodded in understanding and dutifully brought the soup over to Hawke’s side of the bed, setting it down on the nightstand. “Thank you, Orana,” Hawke said quietly as the elf left. She picked up one of the bowls, handing it to Sebastian. She took the other for herself and they ate in silence. 

“I’d like it if you stayed over,” Hawke blurted, just as Sebastian put another spoonful of the soup in his mouth. It took all he had to not spit it right back out. “Nothing…  _ dirty _ , of course. I just… I don’t want to be alone, and I trust you to not… you might be the only one I trust, actually,” she said, voice trailing to a whisper so that Sebastian scarcely heard the last sentence. 

“Of course I’ll stay, and I wouldn’t assume anything of the--look, Hawke, I’ve been where you are. It gets easier, as impossible as it seems tonight. You never forget… you never get over it… but it gets to be a bit easier to bear the burden. The memory of her smile will come to you quicker than the sting of her death. I’m not saying that I have all of the answers on how to go on from here--Maker knows I stumble every day--but I’m here for you, no matter how long you need me. If I have to put off my return to Starkhaven, so be it.”  _ What am I saying? Put off what I’ve fought for years to achieve? Richard is going to kill me, to say nothing of Ryon.  _ He resumed eating the chicken soup, savoring the richness of the broth.

Hawke’s spoon clattered against her soup bowl. “You’d delay your return home… for  _ me _ ?”

The surprised tone to her question, the tiny break in her voice as she said  _ for me  _ was like a slap to the face. Sebastian looked over at Hawke, his brow knitted in concern. Her sapphire eyes were opened wide, but he couldn’t decide if it was because she was surprised at his offer or terrified that he’d take it back.  _ Has no one ever sacrificed themselves for her, the way she does for others?  _ In that moment, sitting beside Hawke, eating soup while covered in a mountain of downy quilts, bonded by their respective losses, Sebastian was hit with the realization of something he’d denied for far too long.  _ She’s my best friend. She’s risked her life for me, more than once. I would do anything for her. She deserves no less. _

Sebastian smiled warmly. “I would, and I will.” He felt an overwhelming contentedness as Hawke leaned into him.

_ Outside of Hawke’s Estate, on the street below her bedroom window, stood a wiry blonde man, the feathers of his tattered coat fluttering in the crisp breeze. He stared up at the window, glaring at the silhouettes of two figures in bed, backlit by a cozy fire. Disgusted, he vowed to have his revenge on them both, even at the cost of his own life. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> When I began the Chronicles of Vael series over 5 years ago (yes, really, and it used to be called Only Just A Dream), there were many canon figure bios and bits of lore that were unclear or missing, so I had to connect dots or fabricate them entirely. Since then, Bioware has done a fantastic job of giving us fanatics what we want, which is MOAR LORE. But, as things become clearer from an official standpoint, there are some conflicts between actual DA lore and the AU I've created, and a few of these conflicts erase some of the relationships I've established in the series. These discrepancies have caused me a lot of anguish, and there were many times where I felt I needed to either rewrite the entire series, or give it up entirely because the story didn't fit perfectly with DA lore. 
> 
> Neither of those things are happening. Not when I've put so much into the series already. My conclusion is this: I acknowledge that I am aware of the inconsistencies, but I am sticking with my established lore for the remainder of the series, for the sake of continuity. Trust me when I say I'm a rabid lore fanatic, and it bugs me to have the inconsistencies, but it bugs me more to see authors retcon their stories. It really ruins the immersion for me, and for that reason, I'm not listing out all of the inconsistencies in my series, as I know that some of you dear readers may not be aware of their existence or are able to blissfully ignore them. (thanks, btw!) And, while I may eventually go back and edit some chapters in the future, I will only do so in order to make the writing style consistent, and only after the complete story has been told. After all, I've changed quite a bit as a writer over the years!
> 
> As always, thank you so, so much for reading, commenting, and giving kudos. This series is a work of love for Bioware and the world they've created, as well as the fandom that has given me so much life.


End file.
